


Clara Potter and the Boy in the Diary

by Snow_bird



Series: The Tales of Clara Potter [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Harry Potter Has a Sibling, Harry Potter has a little sister, Not Beta Read, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Original Character, not beta read we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 59,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22440748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snow_bird/pseuds/Snow_bird
Summary: Life was quiet on number four, Privet Drive - rather ordinary and unchanging. Along the halls of the house, there were pictures of a little boy who looked like a pink beach ball sporting different colored bobble hats, riding a tricycle, standing in front of the school on his first day of classes, riding a bicycle, and then the same boy a significant size larger, standing in front of the school that he will be attending that fall.One would not think, however, that there were two other children who lived there, also. They had no pictures, no drawings displayed to encourage artistic skills, no report cards showing off the academic knowledge that the children had possessed. Yet, there they were, the siblings Harry and Clara Potter.
Relationships: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Draco Malfoy & Original Character(s), Draco Malfoy & Original Female Character(s), Harry Potter & Original Character(s), Harry Potter & Original Female Character(s), Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Original Character(s) & Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) and Original Character(s), Petunia Evans Dursley/Vernon Dursley
Series: The Tales of Clara Potter [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903237
Comments: 25
Kudos: 109





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first go at posting a Harry Potter fic, so any and all mistakes are my own. If you notice any, please let me know, and I'll fix it! I hope you enjoy!  
> I don't own Harry Potter (because if I did, things would have been done differently), and I only take a claim to Clara or any other original characters who may show up later. All canon characters and events belong to J.K. Rowling.

Life was quiet on number four, Privet Drive - rather ordinary and unchanging. Along the halls, there were pictures of a little boy who looked like a pink beach ball sporting different colored bobble hats, a boy riding a tricycle, standing in front of the school on his first day of school, riding a bicycle, and then the same boy a significant size larger, standing in front of the school that he will be attending that fall.

One would not think, however, that there were two other children who lived there, too. They had no pictures, no drawings displayed to encourage artistic skills, no report cards showing off the academic skill that they possessed. Yet, there they were, the siblings Harry and Clara Potter.

*

It was ten years after the Potter siblings were found on the Dursley family porch when Clara woke to the sound of Aunt Petunia’s shrill voice - something that might have sounded better coming from an old cat.

“Are you up yet?” Aunt Petunia demanded.

“Nearly,” Harry answered, sounding like he had woken up not long before Clara did.

“Well, get a move on, Vernon wants you to fetch the morning paper. Wake Clara up, too, she needs to look after the bacon. And don’t you dare let her burn it, I want everything to be perfect for little Duddy’s birthday.”

Clara rolled her eyes. Of course, it was Dudley’s birthday. Early rises never meant anything good. She opened her eyes, spotting Harry’s naked feet beside her. She contemplated pinching them, just to make sure Harry didn’t fall back to sleep (and not because it was amusing to hear him screech like a pterodactyl).

“I know you’re up, Clara,” Harry muttered. “Be sure to grab your socks before leaving. Don’t want to leave a trail of dirt behind you.”

“But aren’t the socks dirtier than our feet?”

Harry shrugged. “Their rules, not mine.”

Harry Potter had done his best to fill his duty as Big Brother. He taught Clara how to read when he was old enough to learn himself, took care of her when she was sick - which was quite often - and mended any tears or snags her clothes accumulated through the rough treatment she administered to them. Enforcing the Dursley House Rules was yet another thing that he took on recently, even though he himself thought that the rules were excessive and bordering on useless.

Clara reached above her head to the shelf, gently moving the spiders that made a bed from her socks and grabbing the offending pieces of fabric. It wasn’t cold in the least, and she knew she was going to get hot in them, as they were an old pair of woolen socks that Dudley had outgrown.

Maybe it was because they spent most of their time in their shared cupboard under the stairs, where little light came in and there was little room to move about, but they were small for their age. They were rather thin, too.

Harry looked smaller and skinnier than he was since he was always swamped by the clothes that Dudley outgrew, which was always four sizes too big. He had a thin face with knobbly knees and vibrant green eyes. The color of emeralds, Clara informed him one day, as she spent the time at school learning about the different geodes. His hair never liked to lay flat, and would always go off in different directions, always looking like he had just woken up.

Clara was the lucky one when it came to clothing, being given dresses and aprons that Aunt Petunia snatched from whatever donation shop she happened across. They were more or less her size and the aprons helped keep the clothes on her, instead of looking like an ill-fitted potato sack. Clara looked very similar to her mother if Aunt Petunia was anything to go by. She had the same spatter of freckles, the fiery red hair, the same green eye – although her other eye was the soft amber color of her father.

And she hated it.

She hated looking so much like her mother since it always seemed to be the root cause of much of Clara's punishments. If she looked more like her father - more like Harry - then she was sure that her aunt would see right over her, much like she did with Harry. But alas, it couldn’t be. Like her mother, Clara remained.

Clara was frying eggs by the time Dudley came down the stairs, stomping like an elephant.

Dudley took after his father in more ways than one. He had the same blond hair, mostly chin and little neck, with the same pinkness that liked to make itself known even on days when Uncle Vernon wasn’t in a foul mood. Aunt Petunia would sing Dudley’s praises and made more than one comment about him being a little angel, while Harry and Clara disagreed. It was a running joke between the siblings that Dudley was actually a pig with a blond wig.

Dudley started to count the presents that lay in a pile beside the table, and Clara thought it might be a good idea to plate breakfast. Best for Dudley to have easy access to food should things not go his way, and it might prevent him from overturning the table.

Not that it’s worked in the past, but there’s always hope.

Harry took his with a ‘thank you’ and quickly scarfed down his food, Clara following soon after.

“Thirty-six,” Dudley said, his mouth turned to a frown as he looked at his parents. “That’s two less than last year.”

“You didn’t count the present from your Aunt Marge, dear. It’s under the big one from Mummy and Daddy,” Aunt Petunia cooed, in an attempt to avoid what was sure to happen. Clara resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Thirty-seven, then.” Dudley clenched his fists, his face quickly turning red.

Aunt Petunia seemed to realize her attempt was for naught because she quickly followed with “We’ll buy you another two presents while we’re out today, how does that sound? Two more presents. Is that alright, Popkin?”

Dudley thought for a moment, turning the gears in his head that were surely rusty by how little he used them. “So I’ll have thirty..thirty..”

“Thirty-nine, dear.”

“Oh,” Dudley sat down, momentarily content as he grabbed the closest gift. “Alright then.”

Uncle Vernon chuckled from his seat, folding the newspaper he was reading. “Little tyke want’s his money’s worth, just like his father.” he reached over and ruffled Dudley’s hair. “Atta boy.”

Right then, the telephone started ringing and Aunt Petunia left to answer it while Harry, Clara, and Uncle Vernon were left to watch Dudley open his gifts. Clara paled as she saw what he had received - a racing bike, a cine-camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen different videogames, and a video recorder. Clara was trying to figure out why Dudley would possibly want a video recorder when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone, looking both upset and worried.

“Bad news, Vernon,” she started, “Mrs. Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take them.” She jerked her head in Harry and Clara’s direction.

Dudley’s mouth dropped in horror, while Clara felt a little excitement grow in her. Every year on Dudley’s birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day to adventure parks, hamburger bars, or the theatre. Every year, Harry and Clara were left behind with Mrs. Figg, a nutter of an old lady who lived two streets away. Clara loathed being there - it was so incredibly boring and the rooms always smelled like poorly cooked cabbage. Mrs. Figg also made Harry and Clara look at every picture of every cat Mrs. Figg owned.

“Now, what?” Asked Aunt Petunia, looking at Harry and Clara as if they were the ones behind the unfortunate breaking of the limb.

“We could phone Marge,” Uncle Vernon offered, making Clara’s nose wrinkle in disgust.

“Don’t be silly, Vernon, she hates them.”

“What about what’s-her-name, your friend - Yvonne?”

“On holiday in Majorca,” Aunt Petunia snapped.

“You could just leave us here,” Harry offered, sounding a little hopeful. Clara bet he was hoping to watch as much television as he wanted, and it being something that he would like for a change.

Clara just wanted a nap.

Aunt Petunia looked like she swallowed an onion. “And come back to find this house in ruins?”

“We won’t blow up the house,” Harry promised, though it looked like he might as well have held his breath.

“We could take them to the zoo,” Aunt Petunia said slowly, “and leave them in the car.”

“That car’s new, they aren’t sitting in it alone.”

Dudley began to cry loudly. Well, not proper tears - he hadn’t done that in years - but he knew that if he screwed up his red face just right, and begin to wail a little, Aunt Petunia would give him whatever he wanted at that moment.

“Oh, don’t cry Dinky Duddydums, don’t cry! Mummy won’t let them spoil your special day!” she cried, wrapping her lanky arms around him.

“I don’t want them to come!” He yelled between bouts of over-exaggerated sobs. “They always sp-spoil everything!”

Clara actually rolled her eyes when Dudley shot them a nasty smile through the gaps of Aunt Petunia’s arms, and she counted herself lucky when he didn’t see it.

Just then, the doorbell rang, and a moment later, Dudley’s best friend Piers Polkiss walked in with his mother. Piers was usually the one who held people’s arms back while Dudley hit them. Dudley quit crying immediately.

Half an hour later, Harry and Clara, who couldn’t believe their luck, were sitting in the back of the Dursleys’ car with Piers and Dudley on the way to the zoo for the first time of their life. Their aunt and uncle hadn’t been able to think of anything to do with them, but before they left, Harry pulled her aside.

“Uncle Vernon doesn’t want us to do any ‘funny business’, or else we’ll be in the cupboard until Christmas.” He said.

“But we won’t _do_ anything,” Clara countered.

Though she did think briefly to the oddities that she and Harry were able to do but never had control over. It once happened that Harry grew back a whole head of hair overnight after Aunt Petunia cut it all off, save the lock of hair that hid Harry’s scar. Neither he nor Clara mentioned it again, but it did cause some rather boisterous outbursts from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Later that evening Clara overheard Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia say that Harry was a spitting image of their father, save for the eyes, as they were the same wretched color as their mother, and they were worried that some of their father’s taste for practical jokes and undignified responses (which Clara assumed was their term for sarcastic remarks) would develop into Harry.

Clara, on the other hand, had been able to see little creatures that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon hadn’t been able to see- or simply didn’t notice. She thought that the creatures were quite funny, too. The little mole-like creatures she met would give her little trinkets of gold out of there pouch after she made flowers dance for them. She kept the trinkets in a small box that was safely hidden in one of her woolen socks that had previously been Uncle Vernon’s and she was able to use as a sort of mittens.

“I know,” Harry shrugged. “But he didn’t believe me. Just keep quiet and stay close to them, I suppose. It’s the only sure way that we don’t get in trouble.”

Clara nodded as she slid into the car, wringing the fabric of her apron in her hands.

*

The zoo was quite crowded by the time they got there. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance, then ended up getting Harry and Clara one lemon ice lolly to share, as they hadn’t left in time for her to not ask them what they wanted. Clara quite liked it, though she thought it was only fair for most of it to go to Harry, as it was technically his.

Dudley and Piers started getting board with the animals around lunchtime, and Uncle Vernon declared that it was time for them to eat. They ate at the zoo restaurant, Harry and Clara getting the rest of Dudley’s ice cream sundae when he threw a tantrum because it wasn’t big enough, and demanded that he get another.

Afterward, they went to the Reptile House. It was dark there, kept at a cool temperature, and had lit windows all along the walls. Behind each glass were all sorts of lizards and snakes crawling or slithering across wood chips and stone. One frog was found resting in its’ small pond of water. Clara saw Dudley make a beeline for what had to be the largest snake she had seen in her life - it looked like it could easily wrap itself around Uncle Vernon’s car twice, with some room to spare. By the time she got up there, Dudley and Uncle Vernon had already left, leaving Harry alone to look at the poor animal who, somehow, winked at Harry.

Clara’s eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets, and she walked closer to Harry.

“I know,” she heard Harry say. “It must be really annoying,”

The snake nodded again.

“You can understand him?” Clara asked, pressing a hand against the glass.

“I can understand anyone, it’s the people who don’t listen.” The snake seemed to say, flicking its’ tongue out.

“I’m sorry,” Clara mumbled.

“Where are you from, anyway?” Harry asked.

The snake jabbed its’ tail to a little sign that read _Boa Constrictor, Brazil_.

“Was it nice there?”

The boa jabbed its’ tail again, and farther down, the sign read _Specimen bred in captivity._

“Oh, I see.”

“You’ve never been to Brazil?” Clara asked.

Just as the boa was shaking its’ head, a loud voice screeched behind them, causing the three to jump.

“Dudley! Mr. Dursely! Come back to the snake! You won’t _believe_ that it’s doing!”

Dudley turned at the order and started waddling towards them as fast as his legs could take him, punching Harry in the stomach to move him out of the way. Harry fell over from the force of it, knocking Clara over in the process. By the time Clara opened her eyes after hitting her head against the concrete floor of the Reptile House, the snake had slithered out of its’ confinement and gave Harry and Clara one last wink, and let out a hiss that sounded suspiciously like “Brazil, here I come. Thanksss, amigosss,”

The building was in complete chaos, with people screaming, Dudley and Piers screaming while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon tried to calm them down, and a zookeeper stood frightfully still, appearing to be in complete shock.

“But the glass,” he repeated. “The glass is just gone,”

The head of the Zoo personally saw to it that Aunt Petunia got a strong cup of sweet tea while he apologized repeatedly. Dudley and Piers kept repeating the story, each retelling more extravagant than the last. By the time they got to Uncle Vernon’s car, Dudley claimed that the snake had nearly bitten his leg off and Piers said that it nearly squeezed them to death. It was all fine, until Piers looked at both Harry and Clara, asking them if they were indeed talking to the snake.

Uncle Vernon’s face grew into an impressive shade of purple, but he had enough sense to wait until Piers left before he acted upon his anger.

“Go - cupboard - stay - no meals,” was all he could get out in his fury before he collapsed in his chair with a force that made the furniture groan in protest, and Aunt Petunia ran to get him a large brandy.

*

Several hours later - and well after dark - the Potter siblings lay awake, waiting to be sure that the Dursleys were indeed asleep before they could sneak out to get food. Clara had her ear pressed to the wall closest to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia’s bedroom, trying to hear for any sign that they were awake. When the television in their bedroom turned off, and all she could hear were the skittering of mice in the walls, she reached for the bent wire hanger that was stored under the mattress. She would have to stuff it in the outdoor garbage bin in order for Aunt Petunia to not see it and punish them for sneaking out, but that was a thought for a later time that night. Shuffling over to the door, she fished it through the space between the bars in the door and slid open the lock.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Harry and Clara were released from the cupboard, the school year was over. Harry seemed to be glad of this, but even still, he tended to spend most of his time outside the house to avoid what Dudley and his friends Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon enjoyed playing: Harry Hunting. Clara figured that she was safe from anything similar to the sport since Dudley and his gang never targeted her in the past, but it seemed that her luck would change.

“They’ll expect us to know full well how to use our sticks when we get to school, Dudley.” Piers said one day when Clara was scrubbing the kitchen floor the old-fashioned way - on her hands and knees. “And with Harry gone all the time, we won’t have anyone to practice with.”

“But we haven’t even gone to get our uniforms, yet,” Dudley said.

“We can get used to the motions, though,”

Dudley thought for a moment, and Clara could feel her blood running cold as her hand holding the brush slowly stopped.

“Mummy, can we take Clara for a moment?”

“Why, Duddlykins? Why not Harry?”

“Harry’s not fun anymore. We haven’t played with Clara yet.”

Aunt Petunia thought for a moment, before nodding. “Just don’t stay out too long.”

The look on Dudley and Piers made her skin crawl.

*

It was late July when Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley went to London to buy Dudley’s uniform for Smeltings, a school that Uncle Vernon attended. Harry and Clara spent the day with Mrs. Figg, who was far less taken by her cats, as it turned out that she had broken her leg by tripping over one of them. She let them watch television and gave them some chocolate cake that tasted like it had been there for quite some time.

That evening, Dudley paraded around the house for his parents in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings boys had to wear maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and a flat straw hat called boaters. They were also required to carry a knobbly stick that was used for hitting each other when the teacher wasn’t looking. Uncle Vernon claimed that it was supposed to be good training for later in life, though Clara had major doubts about the legitimacy of his statement.

As he looked at Dudley in his school uniform, Uncle Vernon declared gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia was less dignified by bursting into tears and saying that she couldn’t believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins standing in front of her - he looked so handsome and grown-up. Clara couldn’t trust herself to do anything more than breathe since she was at severe risk of laughing hysterically.

*

Clara was woken up early the next morning to dye Harry’s uniform for Stonewall High. Aunt Petunia took Dudley’s least favorite clothing and placed it in a pile next to the stove, where there was water heating in a large pot. Clara took the black dye that was sitting on the counter and poured it in. She could already smell the horrid fumes it would be putting off.

A few hours later, Harry came into the kitchen, his nose wrinkled at the foul smell. “What’s that?”

“It’s your uniform. Aunt Petunia said that it’ll look just like everybody else’s by the time it’s done, but I don't think it will,” Clara answered. “I don’t know how long it will take for it to be completed, though.”

Harry wrinkled his nose again, moving to the kitchen table to eat breakfast. Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in a little later, wrinkling their noses, too, as they walked to the table. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper, and Dudley banged his Smeltings stick - which he now carried everywhere - on the table.

There was a click at the door as the letterbox opened and letters flopped on the doormat.

“Get the post, Dudley,” Uncle Vernon said from behind the paper.

“Make Harry get it.”

“Harry, get the post.”

“Make Dudley get it.”

“Poke Harry with your stick, Dudley.”

Harry dodged the offending stick as he hopped off the chair, walking towards the door. Clara’s eyes followed him as she stirred the shirts, her arms beginning to feel like lead. There was some time before Harry came back, looking at a letter that seemed to be quite older than the others. He handed Uncle Vernon his post, flipping the letter in his other hand over, looking at the wax seal.

_That's odd,_ Clara thought.

“Marge is ill,” Uncle Vernon said. “Ate a funny whelk.”

“Dad!” Dudley cried. “Dad, Harry’s got something!”

Uncle Vernon looked up, before his face falling a little as he snatched the letter out of Harry’s grasp.

“That’s mine!” Harry retorted, trying to take it back.

“And who would be writing to you?” Uncle Vernon sneered, ripping the letter open with one hand and looking at the letter. His face went from red to green faster than that of a traffic light, then reached the color of white ashes after a fire.

“P-P-Petunia!”

Dudley tried to snatch the letter from Uncle Vernon to read it himself, but Uncle Vernon held it high in the air, safely out of reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment, it looked like she was close to fainting before she clutched it tightly in her hands and rather awful choking noises left her throat.

“Vernon! Oh, goodness, Vernon!”

They stared at each other, looking like they rather forgot that the children were still there. Dudley wasn’t used to being ignored, and promptly gave his father a quick, sharp tap on the head with his Smeltings stick.

“I want to read the letter,” he said loudly.

“ _I_ want to read it,” Harry countered, his face rather red with anger, “as it’s _mine._ ”

“Get out, all of you.” Uncle Vernon croaked, stuffing the letter back inside the envelope.

Clara stepped down from the step-stool and tucked it underneath the sink, walking towards the doorway.

Harry stood still.

“I want my letter!” He shouted.

“Let _me_ see it!” Dudley demanded.

“Out!” Uncle Vernon roared, grabbing both Harry and Dudley by the scruff of their necks and tossing them out of the kitchen. Clara quickly moved towards the stairs to avoid the collision. Harry and Dudley looked at each other for a moment, before battling to figure out who would be listening through the keyhole; Dudley won, obviously, and Harry laid on the floor with his ear pressed to the space between the floor and the door, his glasses dangling from his ear.

*

Later that evening, when Harry and Clara were sitting in their cupboard, she finally asked what the morning was all about.

“Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia think that someone is spying on us.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. The letter had our cupboard on it, which is strange. And they said something about stomping out something dangerous from us.”

Clara giggled. “Maybe we’re _magic_. It would make sense since that’s a no-no word.”

Harry cracked a smile. “Maybe. Just don’t say that around the Dursleys.”

“Of course not!”

Just then, there was a quick rap on the door, and Uncle Vernon looked through. “Clara,” he gruffed. “I need to talk to Harry alone. Go clean the dishes.”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” Clara said, scooting out of the cupboard and walking into the kitchen.

The dishes were already mostly done, aside from the dessert dishes and putting away the dry utensils. She grabbed the step-stool and filled the sink half-way with soapy water, and carefully cleaned the dessert dishes. She nearly dropped one when she heard Uncle Vernon shout, though he quieted quickly. By the time she was done, Uncle Vernon was exiting the cupboard, and Harry was holding a pile of his belongings.

“I’m going up to Dudley’s second bedroom,” he said, answering the curious raise of her eyebrow. “You’re going to stay in the cupboard.”

“Oh,” she nodded. “Okay.”

Harry gave her a sympathetic smile, turning to go up the stairs.

Clara looked at her cupboard and felt very lonely for the first time that she could remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is purely a work of fiction, and I am making no profit from this. All canon characters and events rightfully belong to J.K. Rowling.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, everyone was quiet - especially Dudley. He had done everything in the book to get his room back - whacked his father with his Smeltings stick, been sick on purpose, kicked Aunt Petunia, even threw his tortoise through the greenhouse roof (Clara managed to catch him safely, though, and is currently keeping him in a secluded corner of the greenhouse) - and yet Harry was still in the bedroom. Clara was poking her porridge, not feeling up for eating, and Harry was rather gloomy - no doubt wishing that he had opened the letter in the hallway when he had the chance. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia looked at each other darkly.

When the post arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry, made Dudley go get it. They heard him banging things with his Smeltings stick down the hall, then he shouted. “There’s another one! Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive-”

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon launched out of his chair and down the hall, Harry right behind him. Clara winced when she heard a crash and a yelp, followed by heavy breathing.

“Go to your cupboard - I mean, your room,” she heard Uncle Vernon tell Harry. “Dudley, go. Just go.”

Clara looked at her clasped hands.

*

The next morning, Clara woke to a screech. Peeking out the holes in the cupboard, she saw Uncle Vernon laying on the floor in a sleeping bag, with Harry standing over him. Uncle Vernon shouted at Harry for a good half-hour, before instructing him to make a pot of tea. Just then, the post came, and three letters for Harry were delivered.

“I want-” Harry started, only to stop when he watched Uncle Vernon shred them in his hands.

Uncle Vernon didn’t go to work that day. He stayed home and nailed the letter-box shut.

“See,” he explained to Aunt Petunia with a lot of nails in his mouth, “if they can’t deliver them, they’ll just have to give up.”

“I’m not sure that will work, Vernon.”

“Oh, these people’s minds work in strange ways, Petunia. They’re not like you or me.” He solidified this by trying to knock in a nail with a piece of fruit cake Aunt Petunia had brought him.

Clara snickered.

*

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Harry. Since they couldn’t go through the letter-box, they sought more alternative routes, by being pushed through the door, slotted through the sides, and a few were forced through a small window in the downstairs bathroom.

Uncle Vernon stayed home again, and after burning all the letters, got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could get out. He hummed ‘Tiptoe through the Tulips’ as he did so, and jumped frightfully at small noises.

*

On Saturday, things began to get a little out of hand. Twenty four letters came for Harry and found their way into the house via rather unusual methods. They were rolled up and hidden inside each of the two-dozen eggs that their rather confused milkman had handed to Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious phone calls to the post office and the dairy company to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in the food processor.

“Who on earth would want to talk to you this badly?” Dudley asked Harry in amazement. 

*

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon looked rather pleased as he sat at the breakfast table. Still tired and ill-looking, but rather pleased

“No post on Sundays,” he reminded them happily as he spread marmalade over his newspaper. “No damn letters today-”

But, he spoke too soon.

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. The next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Harry lept into the air to catch one, while Clara stooped to the ground, snatching the first one that fell close to her. Clara felt her fingers wrap around a letter, and as soon as she stuffed it into the pocket of her apron, Uncle Vernon shouted.

“Out! Out!”

Uncle Vernon seized Harry and Clara around the waist and threw them into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, he slammed the door shut, locking it for good measure.

“That does it,” he muttered, trying to speak calmly but pulling locks out his mustache as well. “I want you all back here in five minutes, ready to leave. We’re going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!”

Dudley complained loudly at this statement once the initial shock was over, saying that he was going to miss his favorite television shows and that the car would be so cramped since she and Harry would be sitting in the back with him. Clara noticed that Uncle Vernon straightened from this, and he turned to Aunt Petunia. They shared a nod, and Aunt Petunia grabbed Clara by the back of her neck and threw her into the cupboard, locking the door tightly. She could hear Harry shouting before he was muffled and shoved into the car. Clara leered out of the small window of the cupboard and noticed that Dudley looked noticeably happier, although he still grumbled about his shows as he followed Aunt Petunia out the door, a soft ‘click’ of the lock sounding.

Clara dug into the pocket of her apron, opening Harry’s letter.

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Cheif Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_The term begins on 1 September. We await your owl no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Clara sat back on her haunches, staring at her the letter in her hands. So Harry got a letter to go to a wizarding school, and it seemed like it would be like Dudley’s, and be a boarding school. She doubted that she would see Harry much before the term started, but she could hope that they would come back, and she would give Harry his letter and help him plan his escape.

All she could do now was wait for them to return.

It was late the next day when the Dursleys came back, and Clara eagerly watched for Harry to step through the door, but he never did. She felt her blood turn to ice.


	4. Chapter 4

Clara was nervous, to say the least. Harry would be coming home that afternoon after being gone all year at his school in Hogwarts, and she had no idea how he had changed over the year that they were separated. Their letters started becoming less frequent after Christmas – after she had begged him to come home over the break.

He never did.

He never even sent her something for her birthday in May, which he had never done before. Year after year, he always gave her something, even if it was a dandelion from the garden when he was pulling the weeds, just as she did for him.

She was terrified that he wouldn’t want anything to do with her, and instead, would ignore her like the Dursleys did, in favor of his new friends.

Clara was in the cupboard, fiddling with her fingers as she waited. Dudley had already returned from his school, so surely Harry would be coming back soon, too.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia claimed earlier that summer that they would be moving her from the cupboard into Dudley’s smaller room with Harry, although there had been no effort to carry out the plans. If Harry’s lack of communication with her was anything to go by, then Clara doubted that he wanted anything to do with her at all, and it would be best if she remained in the cupboard.

The door to the cupboard rattled before it swung open, and Aunt Petunia reached in, grabbing Clara by her dirty shirt to pull her out. “Come,” she grunted, grabbing the mattress. “We’re taking you to the room.”

Clara took the rest of her things out of the cupboard, following behind quietly. The mattress was thrown to the floor next to the bed with an unceremonial plop, and Clara quickly righted it, trying to make it take up as little room as she could make it. Harry would want some room to move around and not bump into her old mattress, for sure. She positioned it to be wedged between the dresser and the wardrobe, then folded the clothing and arranged it into a nice pile beside the mattress to act something as a side table.

She heard the front door open, followed by footsteps and what sounded like something being dragged. She felt her heart stop as softer footsteps – Harry’s footsteps – made their way up the stairs.

Any second now, and she would know for sure that Harry was done with her. Any second now, and she would know-

“Clara!” Harry cheered when he saw her, quickly rushing in for a hug. “I’ve missed you so much!”

She stilled for a second before returning the hug, though it enough for Harry to notice and ask her about it.

“What’s wrong?”

She looked down, having difficulty finding her voice after weeks of not using it. “N-nothing,” she croaked.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” he crossed his arms. “Did they do something to you again? Did Aunt Petunia do something to you?”

She shook her head.

“What happened, then? You’re not normally this uptight.”

She looked down, fiddling with her fingers. “You never wrote back,”

“What?”

“When I wrote to you before Christmas break? I asked you to come back, but you never did. You never wrote back, either.”

Harry faltered.

“So I figured that you had forgotten about me. I thought that you had loads of new friends and didn’t need me anymore.”

“Clara,” Harry started, concern evident on his face. “You know that’s not true. Why would you think that?”

“Uncle Vernon and Miss Marge said it,”

Clara could feel Harry shaking his head in disbelief. “And since when are they right about anything?”

Clara met his eyes, a small smile on her face. “Rarely?”

“Exactly.” Harry grinned.

“What happened after Christmas break? Did you find out about why Professor Snape wanted to hurt you?”

“It wasn’t Professor Snape. It was Professor Quirrel, and he’s been sacked.”

*

The summer was nice with Harry there. The Dursleys seemed to be rather terrified of him and what magic he could do, which he exploited to maximum possibilities, although he told Clara that he wasn’t allowed to do magic outside of school – not that the Dursleys needed to know that. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn’t treat her as horribly as they did while Harry and Dudley were at school, which she was quite thankful for.

Until it got close to Harry’s birthday, when Uncle Vernon reminded them once again (one would think that two weeks of proclaiming the same thing that it would be difficult to forget) that they would be having important guests - the Masons - over for a possible business deal that would change the course of his career. The Masons were rich builders, and Uncle Vernon’s company sold drills. Just drills, and nothing else. Clara was doubtful that they’d take Uncle Vernon’s offer since she was sure that there was another company that sold every power tool that a builder could need.

Aunt Petunia ran Clara haggard, ordering her to clean the house to the point where she could see her reflection on the floor and all the dinnerware, and pots and pans (Clara rolled her eyes at that chore since the cookware was under the cabinets) shone like silver, while still making time for preparing the Dursley’s meals and Dudley’s snacks. Clara was sure that she would have large blotches of bruises developing on her back and smaller ones on her wrists, along with the burns that she acquired from the boiling water from her poor grip on the kettle.

Clara was finishing up the last of the polished dinnerware when she and Harry were called into the lounge to run through the evening plans once more.

“Let’s go over our schedule once again, shall we?” Uncle Vernon asked, gathering Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the lounge. “Petunia, when the Mason’s arrive, you will be-”

“In the lounge, waiting to welcome them graciously to our home.” She interrupted, quickly moving to stand in her self-designated spot.

“And Dudley, you will be?”

“I’ll be waiting to open the door,” Dudley answered, in a voice that was so sugar-coated that Clara wanted nothing more than to gag.

“Oh, they’ll love him!” Aunt Petunia cried.

“Excellent, Dudley.” Uncle Vernon praised, though the grin on his face melted into a displeased frown when his gaze landed on Harry and Clara. The weight of his glare made Clara feel impossibly small. “And where will you two be?” he gruffed.

“We’ll be up in the room, making no noise,” Harry started.

“And pretending that we don’t exist.” Clara finished; her voice smaller than Harry’s.

“Exactly.” Uncle Vernon continued, “I will lead them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them drinks. At eight-fifteen-”

“I’ll announce dinner,” Aunt Petunia interrupted.

“And, Dudley, you’ll say -”

“May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs. Mason?” Dudley continued, offering his fat arm to an invisible woman.

“My perfect little gentleman!” Aunt Petunia sniffed, bringing a handkerchief to her eye.

“And you?” Uncle Vernon looked at Harry and Clara once more.

“We’ll be in our room, making no noise,” Harry started.

“And pretending we’re not there.” Clara continued.

“And see that you do so.” Vernon gave a sinister smile. “Up you go.”

And so they did. But once they were in the comfort of their room, Harry stalled.

“Woo hoo!” a thump. “Ha Ha!” another thump.

Clara peered around Harry’s shoulder, only for her eyes to bug out. Jumping on Harry’s bed was a creature that couldn’t have been taller than Clara’s waist, with large eyes and bat-like ears, and looked to be dressed in an old, ragged pillowcase.

“What _is_ that?” she asked.


	5. Chapter 5

The creature stopped jumping on the bed, quickly noticing Harry. “Harry Potter,” it whispered, bowing. “Such an honor it is.”

“Who are you?” Harry asked.

“Dobby, sir. Dobby the House Elf.”

Clara’s jaw dropped.

Harry took in a deep breath, stepping farther into the room. “Not to be rude or anything, but this isn’t a great time to be meeting a house-elf in my room.”

Aunt Petunia’s high, fake laugh traveled through the walls, and Clara cringed. Dobby hung his head.

“Not that I’m displeased to meet you, of course,” Harry hurried, “but, is there a reason that you’re here?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Dobby understands. It’s just that Dobby has come to tell you that – it is difficult sir – Dobby wonders where to begin.”

“Why don’t you sit down?” he asked politely, motioning to the stool that was placed in front of the make-shift desk that held Hedwig’s cage.

“S-sit down?” Dobby asked, the tell-tale evidence of the beginnings of tears before he started wailing - luckily keeping the volume down.

“Dobby – shush – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, or anything.” Harry tried, sparing Clara a glace crying ‘help’.

Clara stepped forward, though paused when she saw that Dobby had stopped, and from the look on his face, she could only guess that it was from shock.

“Offend Dobby, sir? Dobby has heard of your greatness sir, but never has he been asked to sit down by a wizard, like an equal.” He smiled.

Harry chuckled. “You can’t have met many decent wizards, then.”

“No, I haven’t.” Dobby smiled, though he quickly got rid of it and started banging his head against the drawer of the dresser.

Fear clenched over Clara – for surely the Dursleys would hear the commotion from Dobby down in the lounge and Vernon would come up to investigate. “Dobby, Dobby stop. Stop!” she hissed, trying her best to separate Dobby from the dresser.

“What are you doing?” Harry hissed, springing up and pulling Dobby onto the bed - Hedwig had woken up with a screech, beating her wings wildly against the bars of her cage.

Dobby stopped struggling, and Clara let out a sigh of relief. “Are you alright?” she asked.

“Dobby had to punish himself, miss. Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, miss.” Dobby looked closely at Clara, squinting a little.

Clara got the hidden plea of curiosity and quickly introduced herself. “I’m Clara, Harry’s little sister.”

“It’s an honor, miss.” Dobby bowed. “Please excuse Dobby for not noticing Clara sooner, miss.”

“It’s quite alright, Dobby.”

“Your family?” Harry asked, sitting down on the bed.

Dobby turned to face Harry. “A wizarding family Dobby serves, sir. Dobby is bound to serve one family forever – if they ever knew Dobby was here,” he grimaces, no doubt imagining the consequences. “But Dobby had to come. Dobby had to protect Harry Potter, to warn him. Harry must not go back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year. There is a plot. A plot to make the most terrible things happen.”

“What terrible things? Who’s plotting them?”

Dobby opens his mouth, though quickly closed it and started to grunt, before spotting Harry’s lamp and proceeding to punish himself with it, letting out ear-splitting yelps of pain.

“Dobby, Dobby quit!” Harry tried, though he soon hears footsteps making their way up the stairs. Harry quickly grabbed Dobby by the pillowcase he was wearing and shoved him into the closet just as Uncle Vernon opened the door.

“What is that racket!” he seethed through gritted teeth, face exceedingly close to Harry’s. “You just ruined the punch line of my Japanese golfer joke! If either of you makes another noise, I will make sure that you wish you were never born. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,”

Uncle Vernon gave them one last glare before stomping flat-footed from the room.

Clara let out a sigh of relief as Dobby jumped out of the closet.

“Don’t you see? I don’t belong here, I belong there, in your world – our world. It’s the only place I’ve got friends.” Harry tried.

“Friends who don’t even write to Harry Potter?” Dobby straightened.

Harry sagged a little “Well, I expect they – hang on, how do you know that my friends haven’t been writing to me?”

Dobby froze. “Harry Potter mustn’t be angry with Dobby,” he reached into his pillowcase, pulling out a neat stack of envelopes. “Dobby hoped that if Harry Potter thought that his friends had forgotten him, Harry Potter might not want to go back to school, sir.”

“Dobby, give those to me.” Harry held out a hand.

“No!” Dobby cried, quickly running out the door and into the hallway.

Harry gave chase, nearly tripping over his feet to avoiding colliding into the wall. Clara followed, though staying a safe distance away so that she could help Harry, should he fall and get injured.

Clara noticed the stack of letters against the wall just before the top of the stairs and picked it up, quickly stuffing it into the pocket of her apron. She looked into the kitchen, where she saw the cake that Aunt Petunia had worked on all afternoon be lifted into the air.

She lifted her hand to her mouth, watching the cake float over to Uncle Vernon’s potential business partner’s wife, settling over her head. The Dursley’s eyes grew wide as they noticed the cake, and before Uncle Vernon could say anything, Dobby dropped in on her head.

Clara reached for Harry to bring him out of sight, but she didn’t quite make it in time.

“It’s my niece and nephew,” she heard Uncle Vernon say. “They’re very disturbed, meeting strangers upsets them. That’s why I kept them upstairs.”

Clara’s shoulders sagged, feeling the weight of the visitor’s gaze on them. She ducked her head, looking at the rug instead.

*

After the Masons left – with a swift decline of any and all future deals with Uncle Vernon’s drill company – an owl swooped in, carrying an official-looking letter. Harry stood in the kitchen, clutching a mop as Uncle Vernon advanced on him, a demonic glint in his beady little eyes.

“Read it!” he hissed. “Go on, read it!”

Harry took it. By the look on his face, he did not receive an early birthday greeting. Uncle Vernon leered over his shoulder, the menacing smile on his face growing as Harry’s complexion paled.

“You didn’t tell us you weren’t allowed to use magic outside of school,” Uncle Vernon gloated. “Forgot to mention it - slipped your mind, I dare say.” He was bearing down on Harry like a large bulldog, all his teeth bared. “Well, I have news for you, boy. I’m locking you up. You and that sister of yours. You’re never going back to that school - never - and if you try anything and try to magic yourself out, they’ll expel you!” Laughing, he dragged Harry upstairs.

Clara trailed behind, fingering the collection of letters for Harry. When she gave them to him, he hardly smiled, which made her stomach churn from nervousness. If Harry was behaving like this, then she hardly saw how it could get better.

Uncle Vernon was as bad as his word. The next morning, he paid a man to fit bars on their bedroom window. He, himself, installed a cat-flap in the bedroom door, so small amounts of food could be pushed through at various times of the day. The Dursleys let them out once in the morning and once in the evening for the bathroom. Otherwise, they were locked in the bedroom around the clock.

*

“You don’t actually think we’ll be here until October, do you?” Clara asked after three days of unrelenting Dursleys. “I mean, someone from Hogwarts will come and get you, right?”

“I don’t know, Clara.” He said. “I don’t know if they’ll come for us.”

*

Despite what Harry said, he made sure that Clara’s things were packed in the event that they were rescued and needed to move quickly. Harry mumbled to himself about a few things, and Clara looked at her meager clothing. While she was sure that they were of good quality when they were first made, their age was now quite evident. The fabric had thinned through the years of wear, and some had mismatched patches that Harry and Clara sewed on from whatever scraps of fabric they found lying about. She knew that they would not be good at keeping out the cold, and she wondered what would be done should she end up going to Harry’s school in Scotland. It was sure to be much colder in the winters than in southern England.

“Aside from the Hogwarts uniform, we’ll need to get you proper clothing in Diagon Alley,” Harry said, looking at her sparse clothing. “It gets cold there, and your clothes barely keep you warm as it is. A cloak and jacket, most definitely.”

“But my clothes do keep me warm.” she countered.

Harry snorted. “Did you forget that your fingers and toes turned blue last winter?”

Clara crossed her arms. “It was unusually cold.”

“And Hogwarts is colder.” He said, ending the argument.

Clara remained quiet before she asked another question. “Will you be getting something for yourself?”

“I might need to get a new uniform since I’m sure I’ve grown over the summer.” Harry shrugged. “I don’t need some other clothes as you do. Dudley might grow out of his clothes quickly, but they are still in good shape.”

Clara nodded in understanding, looking back at the novel that lay in front of her. She managed to snag it from the dumpster of the library and had a collection of others from other places throughout. “I never can understand how libraries can throw away books.”

“Probably because no one would buy them.” Harry laid back on the bed, gazing up at the popcorn ceiling of the bedroom. “You know, the patterns of the ceiling almost look like constellations.”

“Really?”

Harry hummed. “Right there, it looks something like the Ursa Major constellation. Ursa Major is Latin for ‘The Great She-Bear’. It was given that name since she led travelers North or something like that. There’s another constellation inside of it, called the Big Dipper.”

Clara closed the book she was reading as she looked up, only to lift her eyebrow. “I don’t see it.”

“It’s alright if you don’t. I never really paid attention in Astronomy.”

“Astronomy?”

“One of the classes you’ll be taking at Hogwarts. It’s in the middle of the night, so you’ll need to be well-rested before going up to the Astronomy Tower.”

“Oh,”

“You’ll like Hogwarts. Just stay away from any Slytherins, though.”

“Why? What if I make a friend in Slytherin?”

Harry snorted. “If you managed to do that, then you deserve the Peace Award at Hogwarts, accompanied by a million points for the House Cup.” Harry chuckled to himself. “Slytherins are a bunch of bullies. They do nothing but mock others all day, and nothing good has ever come out of that house.” He spared her a glance. “You remember who the Dark Wizard I was telling you about? Voldemort?”

She nodded.

“He was a Slytherin.”

Clara nodded, leaning back on the mattress beside Harry. “What if I end up in Slytherin?”

“You won’t. You’re too nice and honorable to go to a bunch of worms like them. If anything, you’ll go to Gryffindor, though Hufflepuff wouldn’t be too bad.”

“What about the other house? Ravenbeak?”

Harry laughed. “Ravenclaw, Clara.” He thought for a moment. “You could go there. They’re the smart house, and you do enjoy your books.”

Clara smiled. She couldn’t wait to get her Hogwarts letter.

*

Later that night, there was a rustling outside. Harry shot up from his bed and moved to the window where Uncle Vernon had placed bars on a few weeks prior. Opening the drapes, he gasped.

“Ron?!”

“Open the window, and back up!” a voice instructed, and Harry was quick to obey.

Clara stood up from her spot on the floor, moving towards Harry. Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head when she saw a flying car just feet away from the window, with three boys in it, pulling the bars off the window. The wood groaned from the forcible removal of the nails holding it in place, but the noise was minimal. Clara let out the deep breath that she had been holding.

The car came to the window again, and two boys – a pair of twins – came through the open window.

“Hiya Harry,” one of them said.

“And Harry’s little sister.” The other continued. “I’m George,”

“And I’m Fred. We’re here to take you away from here,”

“So where’s your stuff?”

“Mine’s under a cupboard downstairs,” Harry answered. “I don’t know if we can get it since we’re locked in here.”

“Ah, no worries, Harry!”

“We can pick any lock!” Fred held up what looked like an ordinary hairpin, and got to work.

Harry grinned and stepped out of the way as they quickly unlocked the door, gently opening it, and creeping out. Harry followed closely behind.

“Have you got your things?” the other boy asked, who Clara assumed was Ron.

“Oh, yes.” Clara grabbed her backpack, handing it to him. She also grabbed Hedwig’s cage, gently passing the cooing owl over to the boy. She froze when she heard a ‘thud’ from downstairs, though there seemed to be no tell-tale evidence that the Dursleys had woken up.

“Best come in,” Ron started. “I imagine that once Fred, George, and Harry come back, we’ll need to make a break for it.”

Clara nodded, and his outstretched hand, pulling her safely into the car and to the other door, where she held onto the duffle bag.

Harry came back into sight, carrying his school bag and broom that had been with his trunk. The twins were carrying the trunk, and George placed his end of the trunk down so that he could turn the car around so the trunk could be placed into the back of the car.

“Take this for me, won’t you?” Harry asked, handing the broom to Clara.

She did, holding it firmly. The wood of the broom seemed to seep into her skin, making it much lighter than it had been. She wondered if there was some sort of magic embedded into the material, although she wouldn’t be surprised if there was. There had to be some way to tell the broom to go faster, and magic seemed just the way to do it.

While backing up the car to the window, the car gave a sudden lurch back, running into the side of the house.

Clara could hear Uncle Vernon sputtering from being woken up.

“Hurry!” She cried.

Harry and Fred grabbed the trunk and threw it into the back of the car, and George quickly maneuvered the car to allow them to get in. Fred climbed in first, and just as Harry stepped onto the windowsill, Uncle Vernon came into view, his face as purple as ever.

“You’re not going anywhere, boy!” he growled, lunging for Harry.

Clara grabbed Harry’s arms, pulling him out of the window. Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry by the feet, pulling him – and Clara – back into the house. Ron grabbed Clara by the waist, pulling back, as George pulled the car away from the house. This brought Harry away from the window, and Uncle Vernon with him. Harry kicked his feet, managing to get loose – though not without sacrificing a shoe in the process.

Clara watched with interest as Uncle Vernon tumbled from the window and onto the shrubbery and rose bushes below, no doubt having thorns and twigs dig into him. Clara wrinkled her nose in dislike as they drove away, knowing all too well how it felt.

“By the way,” Ron said, his grip finally loosening on Clara’s waist. “Happy birthday, Harry.”

“My birthday’s not until tomorrow,”

“It’s past midnight, mate. It is tomorrow.”

“Oh.”


	6. Chapter 6

When they managed to get to the Weasley’s house in one piece, Clara could feel the tension in her shoulders build. She didn’t think about it at first, but they would be having to see the Weasley brother’s parents. Clara had no idea how they would react to the news of her and her brother being there, and for some reason, she thought that they would behave quite badly. Harry talked fondly of them at the Dursleys, or, as fondly as he could since he only met Mrs. Weasley for a few minutes at King’s Cross.

Her thoughts stopped when they walked into the house – the Burrow, they called it. Her jaw dropped when she saw a skillet being cleaned by a brush that was moving on its own.

“It’s not much, but it’s home,” Ron said, biting into a muffin.

“I think it’s brilliant,” Harry answered.

Above them, heavy footsteps made their way down the stairs, revealing a plump woman who Clara assumed was Mrs. Weasley, and the look on her face showed that she was at her wit’s end. Clara slipped behind Harry, nerves suddenly washing over her.

“Where have you been?!” She shrilled, giving each of the boys a stern look, before smiling when her eyes landed on Harry. “How nice to see you, dear,” she looked back to the boys “No note, beds empty, car missing! You could have died – you could have been seen!” she quickly looked over to Harry. “Not that I blame you, Harry, dear.”

“They were starving them, Mom,” Ron started. “They put bars on their window.”

“You’d best hope I don’t put bars over your window, Ronald Weasley.”

Ron looked down, swallowing.

Mrs. Weasley smiled. “Now, how about a spot of breakfast?”

Harry and the Twins stepped forward, leaving Clara to Mrs. Weasley’s view. Her eyes widened. “Lily,” she breathed.

“What, Mum?” Ron asked.

“Nothing, Ron,” Mrs. Weasley smiled, then turned to face Clara again. “What’s your name, dear?” she asked, stepping forward.

“Clara, Clara Potter.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled, opening her arms for a hug, which Clara was hesitant to give. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Clara. Come, let’s get some food in you.”

Clara allowed herself to be pulled by Mrs. Weasley and sat down at the chair that was closest to the head of the table. Surely she would be most out of the way there. As Mrs. Weasley was placing the sausages and eggs on the plates before them, Clara’s ear picked up footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Mummy, Mummy, have you seen my jumper?” a girl asked, coming into view.

“Yes, Ginny, it was on the cat.” Mrs. Weasley replied, not looking up.

Ginny nodded in confirmation before her eyes grew wide when she saw Harry.

“Hi,” Harry smiled.

Ginny backed up, only to run off.

The twins snickered, and Harry looked at them.

“What did I do?”

“It’s just Ginny,” Ron answered. “She’s been talking about you all summer. Bit annoying, really.”

“Morning, Weasleys!” a man cried, stepping into the house.

“Morning, Dad.” They replied.

Harry and Clara shared a look.

“What a night,” Mr. Weasley said, shaking his head as he took off what looked to be his cloak and hat, “nine raids. Nine!”

“Raids?” she heard Harry ask.

Ron swallowed the food he was eating. “Dad works for the Minister of Magic. In the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department. Dad loved Muggles; he thinks they’re fascinating.”

“Did you find anything, Dad?” Fred asked eagerly.

“Nothing from the raids, which I expected, but I did get a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle,” yawned Mr. Weasley. “There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn’t my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that’s the Committee on Experimental Charms, thank goodness.”

“Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?” George wondered.

“Just Muggle-baiting,” Mr. Weasley sighed, “Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it. Of course, it’s very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking - they’ll insist that they just keep losing it. Bless them, they’ll go to any length to ignore magic, even if it’s staring at them in the face. But the things our lot have taken enchanting, you wouldn’t believe-”

“Like cars, for instance?!”

Mrs. Weasley appeared, holding a long poker like a sword. Mr. Weasley’s eyes jerked open. He stared guiltily at his wife.

“C-Cars, Molly, dear?”

“Yes, Arthur, cars,” Mrs. Weasley’s eyes flashed. “Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do was take it apart to see how it worked, while really he was enchanting it to make it fly.”

Mr. Weasley blinked.

“Well, dear, I think you’ll find that he would be quite within the law to do that, even if - er - he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth. There’s a loophole in the law, you’ll find. As long as he wasn’t intending to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly wouldn’t-”

“Arthur Weasley, you made sure that there was a loophole when you wrote the law!” Mrs. Weasley shouted. “Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your information, Harry and Clara arrived this morning in the car you weren’t intending to fly!”

“Harry and Clara?” Asked Mr. Weasley blankly. “Harry and Clara who?

He looked around, glancing across Clara and stopping on Harry, jumping. “Good lord, Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you,” he looked back at Clara. “And, who are you?” he asked, confusion written all over his face.

“Come on Dad, don’t you remember Clara?” Fred asked.

“Next you’ll be telling us you don’t remember Annie.” George shook his head.

“Or Kelly.”

“Or Andrew.”

“Or Blake.”

“Oh, stop it, boys.” Mrs. Weasley frowned. “Your sons flew that car to their house and back last night.”

“Did you really?” Mr. Weasley asked eagerly. “Did it go alright? I-I mean,” he cleared his throat. “That-that was very wrong of you boys - very wrong indeed.”

“Let’s leave them,” Ron muttered to Harry as Mrs. Weasley swelled like a bullfrog. “Come on, I’ll show you to my bedroom. It’s all the way at the top.” Ron leaned over to Clara. “You’ll probably end up sleeping in Ginny’s room. It’s on the second floor, with the toilet.”

Clara watched as Harry and Ron slinked off, and Clara sank deeper into her chair, pushing what was left of her eggs around her plate as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley argued.

*

Life at the Burrow was possibly as different from life on Privet Drive as it could get. The Dursleys liked everything neat and orderly, while the Weasleys’ house was bursting with strange and unexpected things. The Dursleys never helped her do things, while nearly all the Weasleys - save for Ginny and the odd one, Percy - helped her make pressed plants for Harry to help encourage him to learn more about them. Clara got her first shock the first time she heard the ghoul in the attic howl and drop pipes whenever he thought things were getting a little quiet, and the addition of explosions and smoke coming from the twin’s bedroom which was considered perfectly normal. What Clara found most odd, however, was that everyone seemed to be comfortable there.

One evening before she went to bed, she saw Percy - who made a rare appearance into the lounge earlier that day - fast asleep on the couch, a book laying across his chest. Clara looked around, trying to see if any of the other Weasleys were up, before tip-toeing her way to him. Shaking his shoulder lightly, he opened one eye with a grunt.

“What is it?”

“I think you’d best be going to bed, Mr. Weasley.”

Percy chuckled. “You don’t have to call me Mr. Weasley, Clara. Percy is just fine.”

She nodded in acknowledgment. “Of course, Percy.”

He closed his eyes with a nod of his head before yawning. “I’ll head up in a moment. Just give me a bit.”

Clara froze. “But, aren’t you scared of getting injured?”

This caused Percy to open his eyes quickly. “What do you mean?”

She looked down, fiddling with her hands. “Well, at the Dursleys, I got hurt if I fell asleep outside of my cupboard. I thought it was the same here?”

Percy swung his feet off of the arm of the couch, and placed a gentle hand on her arm, getting her to look up at him. “No, it’s not the same here, Clara. What you experienced at the Dursleys is not normal, and rather dangerous.” He let out a deep sigh. “When you are at home, you are supposed to feel your most comfortable. True, family members may get on your nerves, but they aren’t supposed to hurt you on purpose.”

“Oh,”

“You don’t have to be worried about getting hurt here, Clara. We like it that you’re here - Harry, too.” He smiled at her. “But if you do get hurt, or if you think someone’s going to hurt you, come look for me. You know where my bedroom is?”

She nodded.

“Good. I don’t think you’ll need it, but the offer extends at Hogwarts, too. I’m a Prefect there, so I can give detentions and deduct points if I need to.”

Clara nodded again.

He let out another sigh, his hand dropping from her arm. “Well, good night. I hope you sleep well.”

“Good night,” she said, her voice coming out as little more than a whisper.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day, at breakfast, letters from Hogwarts came. Clara and Ginny were the first to get to the breakfast table, with Harry and Ron following shortly after. The moment she saw Harry, Ginny dropped her bowl of oatmeal onto the floor, creating a loud clatter. Clara stilled, noticing that Harry did the same beside Ron, both waiting for Mrs. Weasley to notice.

“Careful, Ginny.” Mrs. Weasley said, cleaning up the spilled oatmeal as Ginny reached under the table to retrieve the bowl. Ginny’s face was uncommonly red when she emerged, though Harry was kind enough to not mention it.

“Letters from school,” Mr. Weasley said next as he came from the window that an owl was perched on, passing the letters to Clara, Ginny, Ron, and Harry. “Dumbledore already knew that you’re here - doesn’t miss a trick, that man. You two’ve got them too,” he added as Fred and Geroge stumbled into the kitchen, still in their pajamas.

For the next few minutes, there was silence as they read their letters. Clara’s was very similar to Harry’s letter last year - the same greetings, the same list of required materials. Although there was one thing different. There were seven books by a fellow named Gilderoy Lockhart.

“You’ve been told to get all Lockhart’s books, too!” Fred exclaimed. “The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher must be a fan - bet it’s a witch.”

Fred must have caught the heat of the glare from Mrs. Weasley because he quickly quieted.

“That lot won’t come cheap,” George commented, giving a quick look to his parents. “Lockhart’s books are expensive.”

“Well, we’ll manage.” Mrs. Weasley answered, but she looked a little worried. “I expect that we’ll be able to pick up a lot of Ginny’s things second hand.”

“Oh, are you starting Hogwarts this year?” Harry asked Ginny, genuine curiosity on his face.

She nodded, blushing to the roots of her hair, and put her elbow in the butter dish. Fortunately, no one saw this aside from the Potter siblings, because just then Percy walked in. He was already dressed, his Hogwarts Prefect badge pinned to his sweater vest.

“Morning, all.” Percy yawned. “Lovely day, today.”

He sat down in the only remaining chair but leaped up almost immediately, pulling from underneath him a molting, gray feathered duster - or, that’s what it looked like.

“Errol!” Ron groaned, taking the limp owl from Percy and extracting a letter from under its wing. “Finally - he’s got Hermione’s answer. I wrote to her saying we’re going to try and rescue you from the Dursleys.”

He carried Errol to a perch just inside the back door and tried to stand him on it, but Errol flopped straight off again so Ron laid him on the draining board instead, muttering. He then ripped open Hermione’s letter and read it.

“Hermione’s going to Diagon Alley on Wednesday and wants to know if we can meet her there.”

“That fits in nicely, we can go and get your things, too.” Mrs. Weasley said, clearing the table. “What’re you all up to today?”

Harry, Ron, and the Twins were going to play a game of Quidditch, while Percy was going to spend time up in his room continuing whatever research he was doing.

“Do you want to come with me to the chicken coop?” Ginny asked Clara. “There are some eggs that are getting close to hatching.”

“I’ve never been around chickens before,”

“Oh, there’s nothing to it. Just stay away from the rooster - he’s a meanie.” Ginny supplied, slipping out of her chair.

*

Mrs. Weasley woke them all early the following Wednesday. After a quick breakfast of bacon sandwiches, they pulled on their coats, and Mrs. Weasley took a flowerpot off the kitchen mantelpiece and peered inside.

“We’re running low, Arthur,” she said. “We’ll have to buy more today. Ah, well, guests first! After you, Harry dear!” she offered him the flower pot.

Harry just looked at it, looking back up at Mrs. Weasley.

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“He’s never traveled by Floo powder,” Ron said suddenly. “I’m sorry, Harry. I forgot.”

“Never?” Mr. Weasley asked. “And how did you get to Diagon Alley to get your school books last year?”

“By the underground,”

“Really?” Mr. Weasley asked excitedly. “Were there escapators? How exactly-”

“Not now, Arthur.” Mrs. Weasley chided. “Floo powder’s a lot quicker, dears, but goodness me, if you’ve never used it before-”

“They’ll be fine, Mum,” Fred said. “Harry, watch us first.”

He took a pinch of the glittering green powder out of the flowerpot, stepped up to the fire, and threw the powder into the flames.

With a roar, the flames turned emerald green and rose higher than Fred as he stepped in, shouted ‘Diagon Alley!’, and vanished.

“You must speak very clearly, dears.” Mrs. Weasley told Harry and Clara as George dipped his hand into the flowerpot. “And be sure to get out at the right gate,”

“The right what?” Harry asked, nervously eyeing the flames that whipped George out of sight.

“Well, there’s an awful lot of wizard fires to choose from, but as long as you’ve spoken clearly-”

“They’ll be fine, Molly, no need to fuss.” Mr. Weasley said, helping himself to the Floor powder.

“But what if they get lost? How would we ever explain it to their aunt and uncle?”

Percy, who was standing close to Clara, placed his hand on her shoulder when he noticed her tensing. Clara sagged a little in relief from the contact.

“They wouldn’t mind,” Harry reassured her. “Dudley would think it’s a brilliant joke if I got stuck in a chimney, don’t worry about that-”

“Well, alright. Harry, you go after Arthur. Clara, you’ll go after Harry.” Mrs. Weasley took a deep breath. “Now, when you get into the fire, say where you are going.”

“And keep your elbows tucked in,” Ron added.

“And shut your eyes,” Mrs. Weasley continued. “The soot-”

“Don’t fidget,” Ron interrupted. “Or you might fall out the wrong fireplace.”

“But don’t panic and get out too early; wait until you see Fred and George.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows in concentration as he took a pinch of the Floo powder. He scattered it over the flames, stepped in, and coughed, saying

“D-Dia-gon Alley,”

He went up in flames, gone in a moment.

Clara swallowed nervously.

“Are you ready, Clara?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

Clara nodded and took a pinch of the powder.

“Diagon Alley, correct?” she asked, though felt like a fool as soon as the words left her mouth.

“Yes, Clara dear. Will this be your first time going?”

Clara nodded again.

Mrs. Weasley smiled. “Excellent. Be sure to speak very clearly, and some of the ashes might come into your mouth when you open it to name your location. Power through it, and try not to cough.”

“Okay,” she said nervously, moving to scatter the powder on the flames. Once they turned green, she stepped in, opened her mouth (ash did indeed enter her mouth), and called “Diagon Alley!” as clearly as she could.

The flames whisked her away, and she felt something like fingers gripping onto her, spinning her rapidly. She felt the need to vomit from the movement, though she clamped her mouth shut. Not long after, she was falling into a set of arms.

“Easy there, Potter!” Fred called. “Is Harry right after you?”

“He’s not here? He came before I did.”

Fred and George looked at each other. “Uh oh.”

Mr. Weasley facepalmed. “You two stay here, I’ll see if I can find him.” and he took off, running out the door and into the busy street.

Ron showed up next, followed by Percy, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley.

When Mrs. Weasley looked up from dusting her clothes from the soot, she stilled.

“Where’s Harry?” she asked.

“He’s not here,” George started,

“And Dad went to go look for him,” Fred finished.

Mrs. Weasley’s brow furrowed. “Well, let’s go look for him.”

And off they went, searching each store for Harry. It was several seconds later that Clara saw Mr. Weasley, Ron, Fred, George, and Percy running up the steps of a particularly large building towards a large man. Upon closer inspection, there was a boy with the man - a boy who looked a lot like Harry.

“Mrs. Weasley, I think Mr. Weasley found Harry,” Clara said, pointing at the building.

Mrs. Weasley’s eyes followed Clara’s direction, and her face broke into a large grin. “Excellent! Come along, no time to waste!”

“Where did you come from?” Clara heard Ron ask when she got there.

Harry was standing close to the man - who seemed better fit for a giant since he was the tallest man Clara had ever seen in her life and was quite a bit bigger than any she could remember. Harry’s clothing was covered in soot - a lot more than Clara’s had been - though it looked like Harry had tried to clean as much off of him as he could.

Harry’s glasses were also cracked and broken, and Clara let out a huff. She would have to see if there was any way to make sure that Harry didn’t break his glasses in the future since that was his only pair and glasses were a little hard to come by.

“Knockturn Alley,” The man said grimly, and Harry shuddered.

“Excellent,” Fred and George said with a wide smile.

“We’ve never been allowed to go,” Ron explained.

“I should ruddy hope not,” the man grunted before his gaze landed on Clara. “Ah, who’s this?”

“This is Clara,” Harry supplied. “She’s my little sister. Clara, this is Hagrid.”

Hagrid broke into a grin, though it was mostly covered by his beard. “Pleasure to meet ya, Clara.” he held out a hand.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Clara took it.

Mrs. Weasley came trotting up the stairs, her handbag swaying madly in one hand while Ginny held onto the other.

“Harry!” she gasped. “Oh, dear, you could have been anywhere!” she huffed, before pulling out a brush from her handbag and swept away the soot from Harry’s clothes.

Mr. Weasley took Harry’s glasses and tapped his wand to them, fixing the cracked glass and broken frame, and handed it back to him.

“Well, gotta be off,” Hagrid gruffed, trying to wrestle his hand out of Mrs. Weasley’s grip (“Knockturn Alley, if you hadn’t found him, Hagrid!”). “See yer at Hogwarts!” he lifted his hand in a small wave, melting into the crowd of people, head and shoulder above everyone else.

“Is this your sister, Harry?” a girl asked Harry.

Clara shifted her gaze from Hagrid to the girl, a little ashamed of herself for not noticing the girl, to begin with.

“Yes, this is Clara.” Harry smiled. “Clara, this is Hermione.”

“Pleasure,” Clara lifted her hand.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Hermione answered, taking it and giving it a firm shake.

“You’re not going to believe who I saw at Borgin and Burke’s,” Harry said next, walking with Ron and Hermione up the stairs to the building. “Malfoy and his father.”

Clara furrowed her eyebrows. Judging by the tone in Harry’s voice, this Malfoy fellow had to be one of the Slytherins he wasn’t very fond of.

“Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?” Mr. Weasley asked sharply behind them.

“No, he was selling,” Harry answered.

“So he’s worried,” Mr. Weasley said with grim satisfaction. “Oh, I’d love to get Lucius Malfoy for something,”

“You be careful, Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley cut in as they were being ushered into the building. “That family’s trouble. Don’t go biting off more than you can chew.”

Mr. Weasley countered with something, but it fell onto Clara’s deaf ears. She stopped, her eyes wide and mouth agape.

Standing before her were  _ goblins! _ She had only ever read about goblins and none of what she read prepared her for this. She knew that goblins were crafty folk, and judging by how the building was set up, she guessed that she was in a bank. She thought it was an excellent idea for goblins to be in charge of a bank, especially considering their love for contracts and agreements.

She was brought out of her thoughts when she heard Mr. Weasley cry, and her gaze shifted from the goblins to Mr. Weasley, who was talking to two other people.

Clara noticed that she was quite a bit behind them, and ran to catch up. When she did, she saw Mr. Weasley pointing at a ten-pound note.

“You’re exchanging money?” he asked as he was being ushered away by a goblin in the direction that Clara assumed was the vaults.

Harry shook his head in exasperation, before looking to Clara. “We’re going by cart. It will move fast, so make sure that you’re holding onto something.”

Clara nodded in understanding, stepping into the cart.

Once the goblin boarded, the cart shot off like those rollercoasters that Dudley talked about. Twisting and turning, the cart took them past stalagmites and stalactites - one of which Clara managed to touch as they whipped past, and another dropped something into her hand that looked like a diamond, though she thought it might have simply been a rather clear stone.

When they got to the Weasley vault, Mrs. Weasley walked swiftly to one of the corners, sweeping coins into her pouch.

Clara saw Harry blush when he saw what was in there, and the blush seemed to deepen when they went deeper into the tunnels and to their vault, revealing mounds upon mounds of gold, silver, and bronze coins.

Harry had told her that their parents left them a sizable trust fund (and he suspected that there was another vault for them when they were older and could legally inherit it), but she never imagined that there would be that much money. Judging by what he told her about the currency exchange, she bet there was enough in there to keep Harry and her afloat for quite some time - possibly even their entire life if they were smart with the money.

Harry tried to keep the mounds out of view as he grabbed handfuls of the coins and shoved them into his leather pouch. He pivoted and scurried out, the goblin shutting the door firmly as Harry sat down next to her.

When they left the bank, they split up. Percy mentioned something about having to get quills, while Fred and George went off to a friend from Hogwarts they saw - Lee Jordan, she thought the name was. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny went off to a second-hand robe shop, and Mr. Weasley insisted on taking Hermione’s parents (they were the people that Mr. Weasley was talking to before he was directed away) the Leaky Cauldron for a drink.

Clara assumed it was a pub.

“We’ll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy your school books,” Mrs. Weasley said, leaving with Ginny. “And not one step in Knockturn Alley!” She shouted at Fred and George.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Clara were left standing on the steps of Gringotts, watching the others as they went their different directions.

Harry turned to Clara. “So, ready to get your wand?”

“Yes!” She cheered, making the others smile.


	8. Chapter 8

They walked in the direction of the shop  _ Ollivander’s _ , and when Clara saw the sign above all the others, she raced inside.

Once in, Clara froze. The shop smelled like a woodworker’s shop, though there was a bit of a spiciness in it that she couldn’t explain. There were shivers running up her spine, as well.

An old man came up from behind the boxes that were stacked behind a desk, a smile on his face.

“Clara Potter,” he said. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“You’ve been expecting me?” she echoed.

The man - she thought it was safe to assume that he was Mr. Ollivander - nodded. “Your mother Lily, may her soul rest, told me when you were born that you may require a rare wand core, as you displayed magical talent at a surprisingly young age, though she did say that it might have been influenced by wanting to join your brother while he played. She was gifted in charms, see, and thus had an affinity with wand cores.”

Clara’s eyes grew wide as Harry and the others came in.

Mr. Ollivander smiled. “Ah, a pleasure to see you again,” he looked at Ron. “Have you convinced your parents to get you a proper wand, Mr. Weasley?”

Ron shook his head. “Ginny’s starting school this year, so they’re probably getting her a wand before me.”

Mr. Ollivander’s mouth twisted in an odd way in response. “Very well.” He turned to Clara. “Now, which arm is your wanding arm?”

She lifted her right arm. “This one, sir.”

Mr. Ollivander flicked his wand, and a tape measure slipped out of one of the drawers and wrapped around her wrist, the length of her arm, her wing-span, and the length from her shoulder to the ground.

As the tape measure did this, Mr. Ollivander dug through the boxes, pulling one out of its spot, revealing a black wand.

“Let’s start with this one, shall we? Ebony, twelve inches, phoenix tail feather.”

Clara barely had her hands wrapped around it before it was taken away from her.

“No, just as I thought,” he said, placing it back in its box, taking another from its box. “Eleven inches, willow, unicorn hair.”

And soon that was denied, too.

Over and over the wands were taken from her, and there was a steady pile of rejected wands growing. Clara felt herself get frustrated, though she quickly stomped it down when she remembered that Harry went through the same thing.

Mr. Ollivander also seemed to grow in excitement as more wands were denied, which Clara assumed was a good thing.

Hermione and Ron were keeping themselves occupied by playing a clapping game that she would see the girls playing on the playground at school. Ron was quickly getting the hang of it, much to Hermione’s disappointment.

“This one’s a bit of an odd one,” Mr. Ollivander started, giving Clara a glance. “A unique blend of Alder and Aspen, the core of a Thunderbird tail feather, thirteen inches. Give it a go.” He held out a wand.

When Clara’s fingers wrapped around the base of it, a warm buzz traveled up her spine, before it encompassed around her chest.

Mr. Ollivander smiled. “It appears that your mother was correct about you, Clara.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

Ron and Hermione stopped what they were doing to listen to Mr. Ollivander’s explanation.

“I have been exploring with some magical cores from the United States, as it has come to my attention that there are some interesting aspects to their wands. I cannot be sure if it is a pure Thunderbird feather - it was given to me by a fellow wizard, see, and not by the creature itself. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was influenced by another popular American wand core. The Thunderbird tail feather is similar to yours, Harry, but it is far more protective of its’ owner.” He gave Clara a smile. “I think it is safe to assume you will possess the same talent of Transfiguration as your father.”

Clara smiled broadly, cradling the wand close to her.

As Mr. Ollivander strode over to the counter on the other side of the store, he continued his explanation. “Along with the wand being rather rigid, thus the probability of it being won by another wizard lowering significantly, the Thunderbird tail feather has been known to fire curses whenever its’ owner is in danger. Treat it well, and it shall return the favor. That will be seven galleons.”

Harry opened the pouch, counting seven gold coins before sliding it over.

They left the store, and they quickly made their way through Clara’s shopping list, accompanied by the additional clothing that Harry made sure she had. When Clara was getting her robes fitted, Harry was ushered onto the platform as well, as the seamstress noticed that he grew several inches over the summer, and she refused to let a student leave her shop without properly fitting clothes.

Ron and Hermione snickered as Harry groaned, and Clara rolled her eyes as the seamstress muttered about measurements and fabric choices.

*

Soon after, it was time for them to go to Flourish and Blotts, Clara was surprised to see that there was a crowd trying to get through the doors. The culprit of this was a large banner - featuring a man with a wide smile winking cheesily - stretched across the windows of the shop that read:

_ GILDEROY LOCKHART _

_ Will be signing copies of his autobiography _

_ MAGICAL ME _

_ Today 12:30 - 4:30 _

“We can actually meet him!” Hermione squeaked. “I mean, he’s written practically the whole textbook list!”

The crowd surrounding the bookstore seemed to be made up of females around Mrs. Weasley’s age. One tired-looking man stood at the door, saying, “Calmly, please ladies - don’t push there - mind the books, now!”

Clara, Harry, Ron, and Hermione pushed their way through, only to find a long line winding to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was seen signing his book. The kids grabbed a copy of  _ Break with a Banshee _ and sneaked into the line where the rest of the Weasleys were standing with Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

“Oh, there you are,” Mrs. Weasley said, sounding rather breathless. “We’ll be able to see him in a minute,”

Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking like the banner, with blue forget-me-not robes billowing around him. What caught her attention first was that he was the only one in the shop that had a hat on.

Clara pursed her lips, thinking. “Wonder if he’s having a bad hair day,”

A short man with an awful scowl holding a large black camera that emitted purple smoke whenever the light flashed elbowed his way through the crowd, giving a particularly nasty look at Ron.

“Out of the way,” he snarled. “This is for the  _ Daily Prophet _ .”

“Big deal,” Ron rolled his eyes, rubbing his foot that the man had stomped on.

Gilderoy Lockhart must have heard Ron because soon he was looking in their direction. His gaze flitted from Ron to Harry, which it stayed. He stared, before leaping onto his feet with a shout of “It  _ can’t _ be Harry Potter!”

The crowd parted like a rat was discovered near them, people whispering excitedly amongst themselves. Lockhart dived towards Harry, quickly pulling him behind the table with him. The crowd erupted into applause that deafened Clara. The rude photographer was in front of Harry and Lockhart, madly clicking away with his camera.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lockhart started loudly, pulling Harry closer to himself. “What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I’ve been sitting on for quite some time!

“When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography - which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge -”

The crowd applauded again

“- he had no idea,” Lockhart continued, giving Harry a shake that caused his glasses to slip down his nose, “that he would be getting much, much more than my book,  _ Magical Me _ . He and his schoolfellows will, in fact, be getting the real, magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

The crowd clapped and cheered at the information, and Harry was given a pile of books as he was being sent off back to them.

Harry came over to Clara and placed it in her cauldron that was serving as a make-shift handbag. “Here,” he wheezed, “you have these, I’ll buy my own set.”

“I bet you loved that, didn’t you, Potter?” a voice spat above Clara.

Turning, she saw a boy, who was quite a bit taller than both she and Harry, glowering at Harry.

“Famous Harry Potter,” the boy continued. “Can’t even go into a book shop without making the front page.”

“Leave him alone,” Clara stood in front of Harry, hoping that she sounded braver than she felt. “If you even paid one ounce of attention to Harry, you’d know that he didn’t want it at all.”

The boy had a brief look of surprise, before composing himself. “Potter, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend!” He drawled.

“She’s my sister, Malfoy.” Harry countered, pushing her to the side and slightly behind him. “And I’d appreciate it, Clara, if you didn’t do that again.”

“But-!”

“You have a sister?” the boy - Malfoy - asked. “I never knew you had a sister.”

“Oh, it’s you,” Clara heard Ron say behind her before Harry could answer, his voice completely disinterested. “Bet you’re surprised to see Harry here, eh?”

“Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley.” Malfoy retorted. “I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay that lot.”

Ron went an impressive shade of red. He dropped his books into Clara’s cauldron and started towards Malfoy as he pushed up his sleeve. Harry and Hermione quickly moved to grab him by his jacket and pull him back.

“Ron!” Mr. Weasley called, stumbling over to them. “What are you doing? It’s mad in here, let’s go outside.”

“Well, well, well - Arthur Weasley.”

Another man came into view, impressively intimidating. He had a full black outfit and held onto a cane that had the head of a snake. Judging by how similar he looked to Malfoy, Clara thought it was a good guess that he was Mr. Malfoy.

“Lucius,” Mr. Weasley said coldly.

“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,” Mr. Malfoy placed his hand on Malfoy’s shoulder. “All those raids, I hope they are paying you overtime?”

He reached into Clara’s cauldron and extracted a transfiguration textbook that might have seen better days. “Obviously not,” he said, slipping it back into the cauldron. “Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?”

Mr. Weasley’s flushed rivaled that of Ron.

“We have a different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy.”

“Clearly.” His pale eyes narrowed on Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who was watching nervously. “The company you keep, Weasley.” He gave Mr. Weasley a look. “And I thought your family could sink no lower.”

With a roar, Mr. Weasley launched himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward and into a shelf. Dozens of heavy books came tumbling down their heads; there was a yell of ‘Get him, Dad!’ as Fred and Geroge cheered him on; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking “No, Arthur, no!”; the crowd stamped backward, knocking more shelves over; “Gentlemen, gentlemen, please!” the assistant cried, and then a loud voice boomed “Break it up there, gents - break it up!”

Hagrid was seen wading through the sea of books and people and pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a cut on his upper lip and Mr. Malfoy was sporting the beginnings of a black eye after being hit by an  _ Encyclopedia of Toadstools _ .

Pulling himself out of Hagrid’s grip, Mr. Malfoy beckoned to Malfoy and swept away from the shop.

“Yeh shoulda ignored him, Arthur,” Hagrid said, almost lifting Mr. Weasley off his feet as he straightened his robes. “Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that. No Malfoy’s worth listenin’ ter. Bad blood, that’s what it is. Come on, now - let’s get outta here.”

The assistant looked as though he wanted to stop them leaving, but he barely came up to Hagrid’s waist and seemed to think the better of it. They hurried up the street, the Grangers shaking with fright and Mrs. Weasley beside herself with anger.

“A fine example to set to your children - brawling in public - what Gilderoy Lockhart must’ve thought.”

“He was pleased,” Fred answered. “Didn’t you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking the man from the  _ Daily Prophet _ if he’d be able to work the fight into his report - said it was all publicity.”

Even still, they were a somber group when they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry, Clara, and the Weasleys would be using the Floo network, while the Grangers would be leaving the pub to a Muggle street outside.

Mr. Weasley was in the process of asking them how the bus system worked before he was stopped by the look on Mrs. Weasley’s face.

After Harry disappeared into the Floo network, Clara took her fist-full of powder, quickly stepping into the flames once they were green. Surely there were more ways of getting around in the Wizarding world than this.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second update of the day! Go check the previous chapter if you haven't already!  
> By the way, this is a bit of a long one. ENJOY!!

The rest of the summer holidays passed too quickly for Clara’s liking. While Harry was looking forward to going back to Hogwarts, Clara wasn’t so much. While she knew that it was rather ridiculous, she couldn’t help but feel nervous about going to a new school. She also had no idea if she was indeed going to be sorted into Gryffindor, even if her brother thought so strongly that she would.

Harry had even gone to the point of getting her a Gryffindor-themed sweater and scarf while they were in Diagon Alley, since he told her that it could get cold in the Gryffindor tower, and he didn’t want her getting sick while they were there.

Trying to shake off the nervousness, Clara decided to pack her trunk. It would keep her busy for a while, and allow for her to get used to the feel of her books since she had a slight feeling that she would be grabbing them while she was still half-asleep and wanted to somehow make sure that she wouldn’t accidentally grab the wrong books for the day.

While she was emptying out her cauldron, she found an old book that she had no memory of getting. Curious, she flipped it over, wondering if perhaps there was something on the back that would offer her some clues. When she did, there was only a name at the bottom.

Tom M. Riddle.

Thinking it must have been a diary, she opened it, expecting to find the pages littered with words, though she was surprised to see them completely empty.

“I wonder if he never got around to filling it,” she thought, taking the book to the desk by the window. She grabbed one of her inkpots and dip pens - she hadn’t gotten around to using one of the quills that were required for school, and thought that using a dip pen would be an easier shift - and let a drop of the ink from the pen fall onto the page. She knew that it was probably a stupid thing to do since the likelihood that the diary was magical in one way or another was really low.

The ink settled on the page for a little bit, before it seeped into the page, disappearing from sight.

Clara’s eyes grew wide. She flipped the page over, curious to see if the ink bled onto another page.

Nothing.

Clara’s eyebrows furrowed. She dipped the pen into the ink again and wrote a single word.

_ Hello. _

The word stayed there before it sank into the page. She waited for a moment, putting the pen back in the inkpot.

The word  _ Hello, _ came back to the surface, in a script that definitely wasn’t her handwriting.

Clara shot out of the desk chair in shock, knocking the chair over.

“Are you okay up there?” She heard Mrs. Weasley ask.

“Yeah,” Clara replied, her voice a little shakey. She peered back to the page, spotting more words appear.

_ My name is Tom Riddle. Who has gotten hold of my diary? _

Clara gulped as she righted the chair, sitting in it. She paused for a moment, thinking. ‘My diary’? This the Tom M. Riddle mentioned at the back of the book? Should she answer back? It certainly couldn’t be harmful, since Harry never would have let her have it if it were. She grabbed the pen and answered back.

_ My name is Clara Potter. I will be starting Hogwarts in a month. _

_ Oh? Are you looking forward to it? _

_ Not really, _ Clara confessed.

The diary’s reply didn’t come for quite some time, and Clara feared that she had upset the diary somehow.

_ Are you nervous? _ The diary finally asked.  _ I was a student at Hogwarts starting in the year 1938. I can answer any questions you have. _

_ I am nervous. My brother is going back for his second year, and he thinks that I’ll be in Gryffindor like him, but what if I don’t? What if I get sorted into Slytherin? _

_ Slytherin is a house rich in tradition and history. Those who dislike the house of Slytherin do not understand it. _

Clara felt a chill run down her spine from his answer. She wondered just who exactly Tom Riddle was, and she thought that once she got to Hogwarts she could find out.

*

On the morning of September 1, Clara woke up with the sun. Ginny was still asleep, and Clara laid where she was, letting the events of the day wash over her. She was going to be boarding Hogwarts Express, going to be sorted, and starting the first day of the next seven years at Hogwarts.

She thought she was going to throw up.

Mrs. Weasley made sure they each had five helpings of breakfast that morning while the Weasleys scrambled around the house, grabbing anything for last-minute packing. Harry and Clara quietly ate side-by-side, having already been packed since they got there.

Once they were all in Mr. Weasley’s car that he magically expanded - not that Mrs. Weasley knew any different - they were off for King’s Cross. Clara’s knee bounced with anticipation, and she could feel her hands begin to shake with nervousness.

“Calm down,” she told herself in an effort to control her nerves, “we’re not even there yet,”

They arrived at King’s Cross both all too quickly and much too slowly for Clara’s liking, and she had a hard time figuring out why, aside from the normal bout of nerves she had since that morning, and she was sure that Ginny was feeling the same.

If Ginny spoke at all, that was. She seemed to be even quieter than normal when she was nervous, and Clara thought that it was slightly unnerving.

Once inside, Clara placed her trunk on one of the carts provided, struggling a bit from the weight of it. Harry noticed and quickly helped her right it, earning thanks from Clara.

“We’ll get to Platform 9 3/4 by going between the numbers 9 and 10 on the pillar,” Percy explained after noticing her weary glance at her ticket, “It would be best if you did it with a bit of a run if you’re nervous.”

“But what if I can’t go through the pillar?”

“Then that means that you’re late, and the portal closed.”

“And we will be late if we don’t pick it up.” Mrs. Weasley said, quickly coming behind them.

Clara’s brisk walk turned into a jog, and she quickly followed Fred and Percy through the pillar, followed by George, Ginny, and later Harry and Ron.

She stalled for a moment, her mouth agape. Whatever she was expecting of Hogwarts Express, the reality was so much better. It was an older model, and she thought that it could have been one of those models from the 1940s, though she could have been wrong.

“Clara, come on! The train leaves in a minute!” George called, breaking her out of her trance.

She pushed her trolley towards the back, where there were other students lining up their trunks and owl cages.

“I’ll take care of your trunk if you want to go ahead and find a seat.” she heard Percy say.

“Shouldn’t you find one?” she asked.

“Prefects have their own compartment, so I’ll be fine. Go ahead.”

Clara nodded and quickly went into the train, searching for an empty compartment. She found Hermione in one and quickly went in.

At the sound of the door opening, Hermione looked up from the book she was reading. “Oh, hello Clara. Is Harry with you?”

“No, but he should be here any minute.”

“Well, I hope so, since I expect we’ll be leaving soon.” Hermione closed her book and placed it to the side. “You can sit down if you want.”

Clara nodded. “Right, I need to sit. Scotland’s a ways away from here.”

Hermione gave her a sympathetic smile. “You’re that nervous?”

“What gave it away?”

“You don’t have to be, you know. The first year is very simple, and you have Friday afternoons off. All of the houses are nice, and the students are quite pleasant to talk to. The only bad house at Hogwarts is Slytherin, and I shall be very surprised if you do get sorted into it.”

“How does the sorting work? Fred said we had to wrestle a troll, but Ron said we had to throw a quaffle a certain distance this morning.” Clara spared Hermione a glance. “What is a quaffle? I mean, what is it in quidditch?”

“Well, I don’t think I can tell you how the sorting works - a bit of a tradition for the upperclassmen to tell underclassmen everything but what it is. But there are no trolls and no quaffles.”

“But what’s a quaffle?”

“Harry didn’t tell you?”

Clara shook her head.

“I’m surprised, seeing how it’s a part of quidditch and all. He did tell you about quidditch, right?”

“Oh, of course, he did! Said he was the youngest Seeker in a century!”

“That is true. A quaffle is one of the three balls that are used in the game and is the ball that Chasers handle to score points until the snitch can be caught. I’m sure you’re familiar with the others?”

“There’s the snitch that Harry catches, and then two bludgers that move on their own and are hit by Beaters.”

Hermione nodded. “Correct.”

Clara grinned widely, swinging her feet.

Hermione went back to her book, and the train started leaving the station.

Percy opened the compartment door, sticking his head in. “Clara, there’s a new First-year compartment this year. Come, I’ll show you where it is.”

“Why is that?” Hermione asked as Clara stood up, stepping over to him.

“It’s a new idea that the Hogwarts Governors are trying out to encourage inter-house unity,” Percy answered, “They’re trying it out now before they make the final decision to arrange a new train cart to accommodate the new compartments.”

Hermione nodded in acknowledgment.

“Will you tell Harry when he gets here?” Clara asked. “I don’t want him to worry,”

Hermione smiled. “Of course.”

“Come along, the compartments’ this way.”

*

The train ride was quiet, which Clara appreciated. The other first years were buzzing with excitement, running up and down the train cars to burn off energy after the lady with the trolley of sweets came by. Clara wanted to try something off of it, but she didn’t have any money on her. Well, aside from a penny that she found at the Dursleys, though she figured that the lady wouldn’t take it.

Clara and Ginny spent the time playing all the clapping games that Clara could remember, and some of the other muggle-born girls played with them. There was one that Clara had never heard of before, that sped up the further along that they went, and Clara was screeching from excitement the faster it went.

By the time that the train pulled up at the station, Clara felt excited about the Sorting and exploration of the castle. She followed her yearmates to Hagrid, who gave her a warm greeting when he saw her, and down to the lakeshore where there were boats lined along the shore.

She was the first in her boat, followed by a boy who was taking pictures of everything while on the train - Colin, she believed his name was - and a girl who had the strangest necklaces and bracelets.

The ride was short, though it gave them a breath-taking view of Hogwarts. When they got off the boats, Hagrid led them inside and instructed them to walk up the several flights of stairs, where there was a lady waiting on them.

“Good evening, and welcome to Hogwarts,” the lady said, her Scottish accent momentarily catching her off guard. “I am Professor McGonagall, and beyond these doors is the Great Hall, where you will be sorted into your houses.”

Clara gulped.

“The houses are Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. While you are here, your house will be your family. You will gain points for good behavior and correct answers; but with any rule-breaking, you will lose points.”

Professor McGonagall gave them a stern look before she smiled at them. “I am sure your school mates have waited long enough, and are anxious to meet you. Follow me.” She turned on her heels, walking briskly through the opened doors.

Clara and the first years followed behind her, though stalled when she was in the Great Hall. Four long tables were set parallel to each other, each table holding students who wore colors that designated their houses.

“Red, that’s Gryffindor,” Clara thought, her tongue poking a little out of her mouth in thought. “Blue is Ravenclaw, yellow is Hufflepuff, and green is Slytherin.” she bit her cheek when she came to the last conclusion. She was lucky that the Slytherin table was on the far side of the hall, making it a little easier for her to stay away from them.

From what she was told over the summer about them, she wouldn’t put it passed them for one of the older students to try to trip one of the first years if they were close.

Inspecting the rest of the Great Hall, Clara was stunned when she saw the ceiling. It was spelled to show the weather outside (or that’s what Harry told her), and at first glance, she would have thought that the Great Hall didn’t have a roof. There was a long table that sat perpendicular to the students’ table, and that was where Clara assumed the teachers sat. As she scanned the teacher’s faces, wondering which ones she would be having, her gaze stayed on one teacher in particular, who was looking at her as if she were a ghost.

Clara lifted an eyebrow with curiosity, though he quickly looked away with a scowl on his face.

Professor McGonagall stepped up to a hat that sat on a stool and stood beside it. “As I call your names, please come sit on the stool.” She opened her scroll. “Andrews, Kenneth.”

A boy with light brown hair went up, taking a seat.

Professor McGonagall set the hat on him, the hat swallowing half of his head.

“ _ Ravenclaw! _ ” It shouted, startling Clara.

The table with students dressed black robes with blue linings clapped loudly as the boy - Andrews, she assumed she was to call him by - hopped off the seat and stood still as Professor McGonagall changed his robes.

One by one each student was called, one going into Slytherin, one into Ravenclaw, another two into Slytherin, three into Hufflepuff, two to Gryffindor, and on and on and on.

Clara could feel herself start getting nauseous as time went by, and more than once she tried to find Harry, but to no success. She looked for Hermione as well but didn’t see her, either.

“She must be sitting near the back,” Clara thought.

“Potter, Clara.”

The Great Hall stilled. Clara stepped forward, and she could feel the weight of the eyes on her.

“Did she say ‘Clara Potter’?” one student asked from the Gryffindor table. “Is she related to Harry?”

“Does Harry have a sister?” another asked from the Hufflepuff table asked.

“She’ll surely be sorted into Gryffindor,” said someone else.

“Why does she have different colored eyes?” a younger voice asked.

“It’s odd,” someone agreed.

Clara finally made it to the stool, and she quickly took a seat. As she looked at the students, not a single pair of eyes weren’t fixed on her. She gulped.

Professor McGonagall placed the hat on her, the size much too large for her since it covered her eyesight completely.

“ _ Ah, so another Potter has arrived, _ ” a voice whispered into her ear. “ _ It has been a number of years since I last sorted Potter siblings, and it appears that you do not disappoint. A lot of talent, I see, especially in the wand arts. Steadfast and loyal, not a bad mind, either. Lots of wits to be discovered in you, little Potter. A stunning amount of ambition and resourcefulness, more potential than I have seen in the last years. You possess a lot of bravery, which will be needed in times to come. A tough choice indeed. _ ”

“Please not Slytherin,” she pleaded, screwing her eyes shut in determination.

“ _ Not Slytherin? It would be a shame to not go to Slytherin, they are a house that will lead you well. _ ”

“They’re a bunch of bullies,” Clara tried, hoping it was enough to sway the Hat.

“ _ It is important to remember that there is more than meets the eye when it comes to our houses. Remember this, and you will forge friendships that will last generations. _ ” The Hat chided before it silenced for a number of minutes.

Clara held her breath as the Hat made its’ decision.

“ _ I see that there will be trials ahead, little Potter. While the other houses would help you overcome them, you will find you will best be suited in SLYTHERIN! _ ”

Clara stayed still, breath trembling. The hall was completely silent, clear confusion on the student’s faces. She was a Potter, wasn’t she? Wasn’t she supposed to be in Gryffindor?

“Ms. Potter,” Professor McGonagall started, “go join your housemates.”

Clara slid off of the stool and stood still as McGonagall changed her robes, before walking shakily to the Slytherin table. Once seated, she scanned the Gryffindor table for Harry, only to not find him once again.

_ Is he ashamed of me? _ She asked herself. She glanced at her clasped hands, trying to keep them from shaking so horribly. Ginny was the last one to go, and she was quickly sorted into Gryffindor.

Clara felt her stomach drop. There was no  _ way _ that Ginny would talk to her now. Her one friend here, and she lost her in a snap of a moment.

She already dreaded her life here at Hogwarts.

*

The feast seemed to last forever before it was time for the prefects to lead the first years to the dorms. Clara couldn’t eat much of the food provided, and what she did eat tasted like ash - much to her disappointment since it looked so good. She guessed it was Hogwarts telling her that she would be a disgrace since not even the food liked her.

She never did manage to find Harry, solidifying the thought that she had disappointed him, too. She could feel the familiar fingers of shame gripping at her throat, then blossoming in her chest and digging into her chest. 

The fifth-year Prefects - Kiera Williams and Pollux Avery - paused in front of a bare stretch of stone. She briefly feared that she would have to duel them to prove her skills in magic in order to proceed to the dorms, or else she would be sent home. She teased the thought of going back to the Dursleys wouldn’t be all that bad. At least she would be back in a familiar setting. She quickly shook the thought away. Harry never mentioned anything about any dueling, so she was safe from that.

“This is the entrance into the Slytherin Dorms. Simply speak the password, and it will clear into a passage.” Kiera said.

Pollux turned to face the stone, his voice was deep and clear. “Fortunam Maximum.”

It pulled away, revealing a tall tunnel with an eery, green light at the end.

Clara held her breath. Surely they would do the duel now.

“Come along,” Pollux instructed, stepping forward.

Clara’s eyes grew wide with disbelief. So she wasn’t going back to the Dursleys? She followed the other first years in, trying to not fall too far behind.

“The boys’ dorms are to the left, and the girls’ dorms are to the right,” he told them, before leading the boys to their dorm room and Keira lead the girls to theirs.

“Each year has a floor level to themselves, and you will be on the first level.” Kiera started as she led them up the stairs. “When you are a second year, you will be on the second level, in your third year you will be on the third level, and so on. Every dorm has its’ own bathroom, though they will be larger when you get to your fourth year. Your trucks are at the foot of your beds, where your scarves and gloves are laid across.” She gave them a warm smile, opening the door for them.

Clara stepped in, feeling something cold washing over her when she spied her trunk, the lid already propped open. It was at the foot of the bed that was closest to the windows into the lake, where she easily spotted what looked like some type of seaweed swaying from the underwater current. What caught her eye about her trunk was that she found a scarlet and gold scarf peeking out from underneath her books. She let out a huff of air.

Harry was just so sure that she would be joining him in Gryffindor that he gave her one of his scarves, knowing that she would get cold easily in the tower. She wasn’t quite sure if she was still welcome to it. She thought it would be best to try to give them back to Harry somehow, but she wasn’t quite sure how. Harry was so appalled by Slytherins (and was undoubtedly upset that she was sorted into Slytherin) she doubted he would want to see her for a good while.

She fingered the tight stitching of the yarn as she looked out the window, feeling rather numb. She wondered if she could feel cold even if she was standing in the middle of the Arctic Circle. 

Clara heard Keira clear her throat, getting their attention back on her. “Professor Snape, our head of house and potions professor, will give his beginning of the year announcements tomorrow morning at six-thirty, which is when he will also be handing out our class schedule.

“While Slytherins may have the worst reputation among the other houses, we are no less special. You will find that we Slytherins are just as brave as the Gryffindors, just as smart as the Ravenclaws, and just as loyal as the Hufflepuffs. With that, I bid you a good night.” Keira shut their door with a soft ‘click’.

Clara looked back out to the water. The glass separating the dorm from the lake looked to be quite thick - she was very thankful for - and when she stepped closer, some sort of energy was pulsating from it. It was calming and felt rather familiar. Placing her hand against the window, she felt the energy seep into her skin, easing some of the shame that had engulfed her.

Maybe Hogwarts did want her, after all.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> COVID-19's a bitch.

Clara woke up early the next morning. She sat in bed for a moment, briefly surprised to see the bed drapes down, creating a nice, warm cocoon feeling around her. She didn’t remember undoing them from the bedposts, but then again, she didn’t remember much from last night, nor did she really absorb anything other than needing to be down in the Common room at six-thirty.

Rubbing her eyes with a yawn, Clara moved out of the bed and pulled the drapes - a thick velvet fabric, enticing Clara to dig her fingers into them, feeling the plushness of it - facing the window back, leaving the drapes that faced her dormmates down. She figured that she’d give them a little more privacy since she didn’t think they’d want her to see them as they slept. The chill from the stone floor sent shivers up her spine when she stepped onto them, making her ankle joints hurt a little from the sudden chill. She would need to start wearing socks to bed, especially during the winter. Maybe she could get some proper wool socks from a catalog if there were any. But then again, she didn’t have any money.

“Except for what the creatures gave me,” she remembered, silently going to her trunk in search of the sock of the trinkets. “I haven’t looked at them in a while, but I think I got a gold coin one time - ah, here it is,” she sat back on her bed, dumping the sock contents on it. She rummaged through them, quickly finding the coin, along with several others.

“I could have used this to pay for my wand,” she realized once she had them separated.

While it was clear that the little creatures favored gold - as most of the trinkets were gold in color - she did have several silver and bronze coins along with the Galleons she discovered. Sickles and knuts, her mind supplied. She wasn’t sure what the conversions were, but she would learn soon enough.

She put the trinkets back in the sock and tucked it back in its spot in the trunk, then grabbed her uniform and toiletries. She didn’t know what time it was, but she had to guess it was still early since not much light was filtering through the water and her dormmates were still asleep.

Before she shut the lid of the trunk, her fingers grazed against the spine of the diary. She paused for a moment before grabbing it, placing it with her toiletries. She could go down to the common room and talk to Tom as she waited until it was time for her timesheet.

After a much-needed shower, Clara quickly got dressed. The uniform felt oddly warm when it was on, and the green of her clothes made her green eye stand out while making the amber a deeper color. She wasn’t sure if she liked it, remembering the comments about them from the older students last night.

She bit the inside of her cheek in thought, pushing her hair back from her face. Aunt Petunia never let her hair be down while at the Dursleys, so she wondered what it was like to go a day with it down. She might have to braid part of if back like she saw her classmates do, but that could be done for potions. She would have enough time after she got her timesheet to do so if it were necessary.

Clara quietly made her way down to the common room, where the fires were still going from last night. She wondered if they ever went out.

She selected a desk in the far corner near one of the fireplaces, but still out of the way should someone come down.

Opening the book, Clara grabbed her quill and inkpot, quickly writing down

_ I wasn’t sorted into Gryffindor. _

She watched anxiously as the ink seeped into the page and Tom’s careful script came back up.

_ Which house did you get sorted into? _

_ Slytherin. The one house I did not want to get into and begged the Hat to not put me in. _

_ Why would you not want to be in Slytherin? _

She bit the inside of her cheek again. Didn’t Tom know why? He was a Prefect here, for crying out loud.

_ Because Slytherins are a bunch of thieving bullies. Harry told me so. _

_ Harry doesn’t know much about us, then. _

This caused an eyebrow to shoot up in question.  _ Us? _

_ Yes, us. I was in Slytherin, too. While we may be given bad light, the Slytherin house holds the most prestige and influence of the four houses. Even that of your brother’s Gryffindor. _

_ It certainly holds a lot of bad influence. _

Tom didn’t reply for a little while after this, which Clara guessed she deserved. She did insult him, after all.

_ Do you know what house Merlin was sorted into when he was a student at Hogwarts? _ Tom finally asked.

_ I would assume Gryffindor since he helped King Arthur. _

_ Slytherin. _

Clara’s jaw dropped.

_ Merlin is the most famous Slytherin and is proof that Slytherin isn’t a house of bullies. _ Tom continued.  _ We are a house of ambition and advancement. Here in Slytherin, you will have the most opportunity for success and will have the resources to achieve your ends. _

_ Then why do most Slytherins become dark wizards? _

_ There is no dark or light wizard, little Clara. Only those who seek power and those who are too afraid to look. _

Clara didn’t know what to say about that, so she changed the topic.

*

When six-thirty finally arrived, Professor Snape instructed the students to line up according to their year. Clara quickly stepped behind one of her dormmates - Scarlett Avery, she thought her name was - and the prefects stepped forward to hand out the timesheets. They handed them out as Professor Snape spoke. While some prefects handed out like Clara would expect, the ones giving it to the second and first years charmed them into origami animals that would move to their assigned person.

Clara’s timesheet was a swan that fluttered to her hands, flapping its’ wings a few times before the charm wore off. She unfolded it, quickly scanning the content. She had Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration in the morning, with the Gryffindors and the Ravenclaws, followed by a break and lunch, and in the afternoon she had Potions and Herbology that she shared with the Hufflepuffs. Since it was Wednesday, Clara also had Astronomy with the other three houses from ten to midnight, and Clara was absolutely not looking forward to it.

“One last thing before breakfast,” Professor Snape said, bringing Clara back to his attention. “The password changes every month, so be sure to look at the bulletin board a week before the end of the month for the new password,” Professor Snape gave them a sharp look, which lingered on some students who Clara assumed were particularly forgetful. “Have a good breakfast.” With that, he turned on his heel, his robe billowing behind him.

A boy came up to the front cleared his throat. Clara noticed that he had a Head Boy badge. “Alright Slytherins, let’s go get some breakfast!” He said, causing cheer to erupt from some of the students as they rushed forward.

When Clara took a step to follow, a foot stuck out of the Second Year line, tripping her.

“Careful, Potter,” a girl snickered above her as she walked away. Pansy Parkinson, her mind supplied. She remembered Hermione talking about her on the Hogwarts Express yesterday. “Don’t want to hurt yourself on the first day.”

“Not that anyone would even care,” another added, shrugging.

Clara quickly got up and dusted herself off. Their words weren’t anything she wasn’t already used to, so she didn’t think much of it.

*

Although the tables were lined with bowls of porridge, eggs, toast, and every other form of breakfast food that Clara had ever heard of, she couldn’t bring herself to eat much of it. She decided to leave breakfast early, thinking it was a good idea for her to find out where her classes were. She made a detour for the Slytherin dorms to grab her school supplies, then set out for her classroom.

She arrived there a good ten minutes early - the castle truly was a maze - and she settled into her seat at the front row, since she didn’t want to miss a thing. She got out her notebook, inkpot, quill, and textbooks (she thought they were better suited as storybooks, but who was she to decide that), and propped one open. She didn’t know what Lockhart was going to be doing that day, but she figured that reading his first book would be a good start.

Her dormmates came in next, with the shortest of the three, Camilla Blishwick, sitting next to her. The other two girls, Scarlett Avery and Ursa Bletchley, slid into the seat behind them, talking animatedly about Lockhart and how informative his lectures were sure to be.

Clara rolled her eyes in response.

The class passed with little excitement, and the quiz he had them take at the beginning of class - a quiz about himself, even going as far as to ask what his favorite color was - made her wary of how the rest of the year might go. From the sounds of it, he might make it purely about him and his adventures, and nothing about the importance of defending one’s self. Once the bell rang, Clara let out a deep sigh of relief. She desperately hoped that Professor Sprout actually knew about Herbology and wasn’t another Lockhart.

Since she was the last to leave the classroom, Clara was surprised to hear someone call her. Turning towards the voice, Clara smiled.

“Ginny!” Clara smiled. Surly Ginny didn’t care that Clara was in Slytherin! Maybe she had a class that was in the same direction as the greenhouses and wanted to walk with Clara there.

“Stay away from Harry.”

Clara’s thoughts paused, and she frowned in thought. “What do you mean?” Clara readjusted her hold on her textbooks.

“Just what I said. Keep away from Harry. He doesn’t need you.”

“What-”

“He’s a Gryffindor, and you’re just a slimy Slytherin. He is a Seeker for our team – the youngest Seeker in a century, actually, unlike you. He’s important, unlike you.” Ginny took in a deep breath and gave Clara a hard look. “He is worth something. And you aren’t.”

“But-”

“And he doesn’t want you.” Ginny interrupted. “He was really disappointed when you got sorted into Slytherin, showing your true colors. I heard him say that he was going to take you off of the Potter vault once he was old enough. Can’t trust a Slytherin with anything, he said.”

“But he wouldn’t do that! He’s my brother!”

“Don’t call him that! You are not worthy enough to even lick his shoe, you devious Snake.” Ginny spat at Clara’s shoes as she quickly walked off.

Clara stood stunned. The grip on her books began to slack until they tumbled to her feet. Clara’s legs gave out as well, as she sobbed into her hands. She was well and truly on her own at Hogwarts, and it had barely been twenty-four hours since she first stepped through the doors.

*

Clara was silent for the remainder of the day. At various times throughout the day, she had tried to get Harry’s attention in the desperate attempt to assure herself that Ginny was wrong, though her efforts ended up futile. It appeared that Harry really was disappointed that she was in Slytherin.

Clara took in a deep breath. She couldn’t really let it keep her down, though. She still had work to do, and there was the possibility that she could regain Harry’s approval. He always did praise her when she made good marks, and he did love Quidditch. Maybe if she was at the top of her class - if not the top three - then he would love her again. If she managed to get on the Slytherin team as a Seeker, then it would be an extra incentive for him to accept her. Surely if she did everything as well as she could, Harry wouldn’t mind that she was a Slytherin, would he?

Then there was the issue with Ginny. When Clara considered it, Ginny was raised with other Gryffindors, and Slytherins and Gryffindors butt heads a lot. Maybe Ginny’s anger was stemmed from what she was taught, and she was caught off guard when Clara got sorted into Slytherin when they all thought she’d go into Gryffindor. Clara pursed her lips. Surely that was it, even though it was a hurtful coping mechanism. As it were, Clara couldn’t bring herself to hate Ginny for it.

But she couldn’t get rid of that tickle of doubt that grew stronger as the days passed, and there was no form of contact from either Harry nor the other Weasleys. She tried to reassure herself that she wasn’t an oddity and that they didn’t mean their neglect, but she couldn’t shake the fear of rejection that simmered near the surface.

*

The first potions lesson was a nightmare. It was near the end of the week, and it was the class that she was most looking forward to. She overheard the other Slytherins giving the younger years tips and proper techniques to achieve maximum results, and Tom had told her that Potions was one of his favorite classes when he was a student - even going as far as to recommending books for her to read to farther her understanding of the subject. Clara had been buzzing with excitement as she walked to the potions classroom with the Hufflepuffs, only for it to be stomped out by the time she left.

Just like the other professors, Professor Snape started with roll-call. Unlike the other professors, he didn’t stop at Clara’s name like the other professors had. In fact, he completely skipped over it. Clara sat still, a little stunned.

When Professor Snape was done, he stepped away from his desk. He opened his mouth to say something, though his eyes narrowed when he saw a Hufflepuff’s hand in the air. Timothy Green, she thought his name was. “Yes?”

“You didn’t call Clara’s name, sir.”

“It wasn’t necessary,” Professor Snape answered, giving him a hard look. “As the little sister to the school celebrity, it’s a little hard to misidentify her.”

Timothy looked down, clearly intimidated. Another Hufflepuff put his hand on Timothy’s back, offering a bit of comfort.

“You’re here to learn the subtle science and exact art that is potions-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic.” Professor Snape continued, speaking at a volume just barely above a whisper - which would normally bug Clara as she usually had difficulty understanding quieter voices - but everyone could hear him perfectly. Like Professor McGonagall, he seemed to possess a talent for commanding the attention of the room, and the students were silent in response. “I don’t expect you to understand the beauty of the softly swimming cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses,” He paused for a moment, giving each of them a firm look - though completely skipping over Clara. “I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper to death - if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

The room was quiet after his speech, and Clara feared to breathe in case she was too loud.

After swiftly writing ingredients and instructions on the blackboard behind him, Professor Snape had them prepare a potion to cure boils individually, as opposed to her assumption that they’d be working in pairs.

Clara was glad for this, of course, as she didn’t quite like asking someone to be her work buddy.

Professor Snape swept through the tables, watching the students weigh their ingredients and prepare them accordingly. He criticized nearly everyone - save a few Slytherins he seemed to like. When it came time for him to watch Clara - she had just put in her stewed slugs and it was turning to a nice turquoise color - he breezed past her and focused on Ursa Bletchley, who was in the process of putting in her porcupine quills.

“Take the cauldron off the flames first, Bletchley,” Snape corrected.

“Yes, sir,” Ursa obeyed, quickly putting her quills to the side and taking the cauldron off its stand.

Clara stared for a moment as she stirred, quickly taking her stirring rod out when she reached five counter-clockwise turns. Did Professor Snape not need to see what she made? Was he planning on coming back to her?

Clara waited as her potion simmered. It turned from the turquoise to a deep red, then to pale pink. By then she figured that it was done, and took it off the heat to cool. A vail appeared next to her, along with its cork lid.

“Place a sample of your potion in the vial when you are done. As I collect it, I will vanish what is left in your cauldron.”

Clara did as instructed, carefully ladling the potion into the vial, her tongue poking out in concentration. When she was finished, she placed it towards the front of the table so he could get it easily. But while she was one of the first to be done, she was the last to get her cauldron cleared. Right as Professor Snape picked up her potion, the bell rang. Clara startled, the sound louder than the other days, and it left a ringing in her ears.

She quickly grabbed her cauldron and followed her classmates out the door and up to the Great Hall for lunch. She found it a bit odd that Professor Snape had ignored her the entirety of the class, though she shrugged it off as residual dislike that he had for Harry. But, she had to admit, surely he would have at least acknowledged that her hand was raised early on in the brewing process if it was something as simple as that? She assumed he never noticed it because it was out of view, but he noticed Scarlett Avery’s hand quickly, and she was seated behind Clara. It was almost like he didn’t want to even admit that she was in the same class as the others.

Clara wondered why.


	11. Chapter 11

_Today was our flying lessons,_ Clara told Tom a couple of weeks later. _It was a lot of fun!_

_Oh? I remember when I had them. I much preferred to keep my feet on the ground._

Clara’s eyebrows raised in shock. _Why? It’s so freeing to fly!_

_Did it not occur to you that it’s far too easy to kill yourself from that height?_

Clara huffed. _Well, then you’re not going to like what I have to say next._

_Don’t tell me. It’s your new ambition to be on the Quidditch team._

_One step ahead of you. I am on the Quidditch team! I’m a Chaser!_

_That is surprising. The youngest in how long?_

Clara furrowed her eyebrows, thinking. Had she been told how long it had been since the last first-year chaser? She didn’t think so. Castor Avery, the identical twin brother of Pollux Avery (though not related to Scarlett Avery in the slightest, it seemed), seemed too excited at the prospect of getting a new chaser that he must have forgotten. And Professor Snape still had yet to even acknowledge that Clara was a student at Hogwarts. 

_I’m not sure._ She finally answered.

_It’d be best if you learned that._

Clara smiled. _A trip to the library?_

_Naturally._

*

When Clara met the rest of the team, she was surprised to see Draco had made the position of Seeker. He didn’t strike her as the Quidditch type, and most definitely not a Seeker. But, she considered, what other position would he play? It was probably the safest position on the team.

At about nine in the morning, Draco received a large package from his father - large enough that it required five Eagle owls to carry - that held seven sleek black brooms. Nimbus 2001, Draco said, before continuing with that they were a gift from his father for the Slytherin team.

“We’re going to be spending quite some time on the pitch today,” the Quidditch Captain Flint said as he and Draco passed the brooms to the players, “I expect for each of you to be at your top performance. Clara, you might want to sit this practice out.”

Clara’s nerve faltered when he passed right over her, giving a broom to one of the boys beside her, ignoring her outstretched hand to receive one. “Why would I?”

Flint shared a look with Montague, who shrugged in response.

“Because not only are you a first year, you’re also a girl.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It means,” Aries Blishwick - Camilla’s older brother and a beater for the team - cut in, giving Flint a hard look as he shoved his broom into Clara’s hands, “that not only does our captain think that you can’t keep up with us because you’re the youngest Chaser in well over a century - let alone the youngest Slytherin Chaser in two hundred years - he also thinks that you won’t be able to keep up with the rest of us because we’re older and we’re males.”

Clara’s eyebrows furrowed. “We’re on brooms, not running. I can keep up with you just fine.”

Flint pursed his lips in response. “Don’t say I didn’t tell you then.” He turned on his heels, walking quickly out the door, the other Quidditch members following.

“Don’t listen to him,” Castor told Clara in a low voice when the others were a distance away. “Not only is he sour that you got on the team, but there’s a rumor floating around that his grandmother is going to make him quit of account of his grade.”

“Why his grandmother? Wouldn’t his parents make the decision?”

“Normally they would, but she’s the one with the weight in the family, and whatever she says goes. She’s never been fond of Quidditch, but Markus is her favorite grandchild, so she made the exception. In exchange, he needed to keep his grades above a Poor, and he’s gotten far too close to it last year. If rumor has it, he got a Dreadful in Charms last year.”

“Has she found out about it?”

“Not yet, his father is keeping it hush-hush. But I’m sure she’ll find out about it, and when he’s gone, I’m next for the captain and we might actually win a game.”

“We haven’t?”

“Not legally.” Aries joined as they neared the pitch, another broom in hand. Or, over shoulders, as he had draped across them like she’d seen some of the peasant people do in the movies she watched in school. “While Flint is good about keeping it subtle enough that the official’s look over it, it’s still poor sportsmanship. Slytherin’s better than that.”

“What are you doing here, Flint?” a voice asked loudly, interrupting their conversation. “I booked the pitch for the day, and we got up especially for it! You can clear off!”

“There’s plenty of room all of us, don’t you say, Wood?” Flint said easily, lifting an eyebrow in question.

“But I booked the pitch!” The boy screeched, his face getting impossibly red with rage. Harry told her he was Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. “I booked it!”

The three girls who were standing just behind him glared at the Slytherins, before they stopped on Clara, their eyes growing impossibly wide.

“Ah, but I have a specially signed note from Professor Snape,” Flint replied, offering Oliver the roll of parchment.

Oliver snatched in from his hands, and quickly scanned it, his lips moving as he muttered the words. “You have a new Seeker and Chaser?” he finally asked. “Who?”

Flint and Montegue stepped aside, revealing Draco and Clara.

“Clara?” Fred and George asked. “You’re on the team?”

Clara nodded unsurely.

The Twins broke into wide grins. “That’s GREAT! Potters are taking over Quidditch!” They cheered, rushing towards her.

“You’ll stop if you know what’s good for you,” Castor warned, taking his wand out of his halter and pointing it to them.

They raised their hands in surrender. “Fine, fine.”

“Aren’t you Lucious Malfoy’s son?” One of the girls asked, looking at Draco with immense dislike.

“Funny you should mention Draco’s father,” Flint preened as he showed Oliver the new broom. “Let me show you the generous gift he’s made to the Slytherin team.”

The Gryffindors’ eyes glazed over as they analyzed the brooms. Clara was sure that she saw George begin to drool.

“The very lastest model,” Flint stated, “Only came out last month. I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps,” his eyes traveled over to Fred and George, who held their brooms firmly to their sides, “sweeps the board with them.”

Out of the corner of Clara’s eyes, she saw Hermione and Ron nearing. She swallowed.

“What’s happening?” Ron asked Harry, his gaze fixed on Draco. “Why aren’t you playing? And what is he doing here?”

“I’m the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley,” Draco said smugly. “Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms my father’s bought for our team.”

Ron’s jaw dropped when he finally saw the Nimbus 2001.

“Good, aren’t they?” Draco asked smoothly. “But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives, I expect a museum would bid for them.”

“Museums?” Clara thought. “There are wizarding museums? I wonder if I could go to one.”

“At least no one in the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,” Hermione said sharply. “They got in on pure talent.”

The look on Draco’s face wavered.

“No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,” Draco growled.

Clara’s blood chilled by the name, and judging by the instant uproar, Clara knew that it was an insult. How severe, Clara didn’t know.

Flint had to dive between Draco and the Twins to prevent them from jumping him, one of the Gryffindor girls shrieked a

“How _dare_ you!”

And Ron plunged his hand into his robes to pull out his wand - that looked like it was misshapen from the last time she saw it - shouting “You’ll pay for that one, Malfoy!” and pointed it under Flint’s flailing arms at Draco’s face.

A loud explosion echoed through the pitch and a jet of green light shot out the wrong end of Ron’s wand, hitting square in the stomach, Ron reeling back from the force of the impact and laying on the grass.

Flint, Montegue, and Draco were paralyzed with laughter, and Castor held Clara back from rushing towards Ron.

“Best keep your distance,” Castor explained. “He tried a slug vomiting jinx, and it backfired.”

“Slug vomiting?”

Castor jerked his chin towards Ron, who was in the process of retching up several slugs that landed on his lap.

Clara wrinkled her nose in distaste.

Ron was quickly taken away by Harry and Hermione, and Clara thought that they were going to take him to Hagrid, which Clara assumed what was a good idea. When she made a move to follow, she was stopped by the venom of Harry’s glare as he looked over his shoulder. When his eyes locked on Clara’s, his eyes narrowed.

Clara felt her breath hitch.

“Alright, fun’s over,” Flint heaved in deep gulps of air, the remanents of his laughter still remaining. “Time to get to work.”

“Castor, what’s a Mudblood?” Clara asked as the others made their way to the changing rooms.

“It’s a highly offensive term that is used to address Muggleborns. It suggests that they are lesser than others because of having ‘dirty blood’, even if some of them are more magically talented than their Pureblood counterparts.” Castor spared her a glance. “You must never use that term, Clara.”

Clara nodded her head. “Of course not.”

He smiled at her answer.

*

Practice was awful.

Whatever joy Flint must have experienced from Draco’s namecalling dried up quickly, and Clara quickly discovered that Quidditch was in fact not a lot of fun.

For her, anyway.

While Draco simply had to catch the Snitch a few times, Clara had to undergo a much rougher treatment. She thought it was fair, considering that she was new to the sport, and they wanted to get her up to speed as quickly as they could.

Clara had to hit into Montegue and Flint to knock the Quaffle out of their grip and race to get it to her assigned hoops while they followed, and Castor and Aries were assigned to aim the Bludgers at her. Not that they really listened, since Montegue was knocked off his broom more than once.

By the time practice was over, she was nursing a bruised and sprained wrist, and she had aching muscles where she didn’t even know existed.

“We’ll meet back here tomorrow at nine since Snape was kind enough to grant us permission the usage of the pitch over the weekend, and for the rest of the week after school.”

“What time are the practices?” Aries asked.

“Because some of us have O.W.L.s we’re studying for,” Castor added, making Flint’s face bloom into an interesting shade of red.

“Be here by three-thirty or be kicked off the team.”

The Beaters shrugged. “Whatever you say, boss.”

Flint gave them a firm nod before turning on his heel to leave. Montegue and Draco followed, with Castor and Aries trailing behind. That left Clara on her own. Walking back into the Slytherin girls’ dressing wing - a wing of the locker room that was awfully stuffy and stale-smelling - Clara propped open one of the windows. She took in a deep breath of air before hopping back to the ground and opening the lockers to clean them out.

“What are you doing?” a voice asked, startling Clara.

Turning, Clara was shocked to see a serpent looking at her, its’ head cocked to the side with curiosity. It was much larger than the garden snakes she found in Aunt Petunia’s garden and had a bright blue jewel sitting in the center of its’ head, with two horns curling out of its’ head - very similar to the dragons in those books she used to read at her old school.

“I’m cleaning out the lockers,” Clara answered.

“Why are you doing that?”

“Because they haven’t been cleaned for twenty years or so. Since I’m using them, I might as well clean them.” She pried something that looked similar to a hockey stick from where it sat, the wood groaning in protest.

“Why does your hand have a blue spot? Is it a leftover curse? I can heal it for you.”

Clara shook her head. “I thank you for your offer, but it’s not. It’s a bruising, and it’ll heal up in an hour or so.”

The serpent’s eyes narrowed. “Speakers should not be hurt.”

“‘Speakers’? What do you mean by ‘speakers’?”

“You speak the serpent language.” It answered plainly as if it were a very simple question. “You’re a speaker.”

Clara shook her head. “Where are you from, anyway?”

“I’m from The United States of America. I, along with my friends, was brought to England by my breeder - who was also a speaker - when I was just a hatchling.”

“Shouldn’t you be with your breeder, then?”

The serpent sagged. “My breeder died many moons ago to save us,”

Clara gasped. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“There wasn’t anything you could have done. The hag is gone, so my friends and I are free to travel the waters of Britain.”

“You’re a water snake?”

“Yes. We prefer the water and feed off the magical talents and energy emitted from our surroundings. I, along with my friends, live in the lake.”

“What made you come out?”

“I wanted to see you. I felt your energy when you touched the water a few weeks ago, and I was curious. This is the first time you’ve been out of the castle walls.”

There was a sharp rap against the door, startling Clara. The serpent moved between Clara and the door, a threatening hiss escaping it.

“Clara, are you there?” She heard Castor ask.

“Yes, I am.” She answered, shooing the serpent away. “It’s just Castor. He won’t hurt me,”

“You okay in there? I heard some hissing. Do you need me to come in?”

Clara’s breath hitched. Hissing? She didn’t hiss, did she? She explicitly remembered speaking English. “No, I’m fine. Just bumped my hand against something.”

“Ouch, that hurts. I know we were hard on you during practice, but if it’s too much, I can take you to Madame Pomphery.”

“No, it’s not too bad.”

Castor made a noise of acknowledgment. “Lunch is starting soon, so you might want to get something.”

“I will.”

“Okay. Uh, we’ll see you there.”

Soon, footsteps were echoing away from the door, and Clara let out a deep breath.

“Was that one of your hatching friends?” The serpent asked.

“Something like,” she answered, placing her broom in the locker closest to the wall. She planned on keeping the window open to allow ventilation to filter farther, and she wanted the broom to stay in the best condition she could keep it until she got her hands on some instructions on how to take care of it properly. “I need to get going. Will I be able to see you again?”

The serpent straightened considerably. “You want to see me? It’s been an awfully long time since I’ve had a Speaker friend. All the other magical humans are dreadfully boring.”

“I would love to,” Clara smiled. “I have another Quidditch practice tomorrow, and it will end at about the same time as today, I imagine. Do you want to meet me back here?”

The serpent smiled. “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While having online classes can be nice, most of the time it's a pain in the butt.


	12. Chapter 12

_There was a snake in the girl’s locker room yesterday._ Clara told Tom that Sunday afternoon.

_Oh? And what did you do about it?_

_I talked to it, of course. I didn’t know what kind of snake it was since I had never seen him before, and he said that he was a young Horned Serpent, which I found funny since he was already about five feet long. Much longer than the snakes that appeared at my aunt’s garden._

_You talked to him?_

_Of course, I did. Doesn’t everyone?_

_Not anyone of importance. What else did the snake say?_

_He said that he was brought over from the United States of America by his breeder who was a Speaker - that’s what he called me and other people he can talk to - a muggleborn descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself._

Tom was quiet for some time, which Clara thought was fair since she did drop a lot of information on him at once. She thought it would be a good idea to change the subject, and allow him to think about what she had just revealed.

_I do wish that there was a way to keep Malfoy from picking on Harry and his friends._

_I thought your brother had been rude to you as of late?_

_Well, he has, but it’s understandable. And it doesn’t change the fact that Malfoy as been exceedingly awful to Harry._

_What has Malfoy done?_

_He calls them names. Awful, derogatory names._

_You could scare him._

_How?_

_There is a creature that resides in a secret chamber underneath Hogwarts. I can tell you how to awaken it, and you can use it to punish Malfoy, as well as any other who wish harm upon your brother._

Clara furrowed her eyebrows. She didn’t quite want to hurt anyone, but she did want Harry to have a good, normal year. Unlike what happened last year. _Punish?_

_Petrification. Perfectly safe, and very easy to revive. It will simply intimidate others from acting against your brother’s better judgment._

_Alright. I’ll do it._

*

It was decided that Clara would go to the chamber during the Halloween feast. Everyone would be at the Great Hall, so it was perfect for Clara to open it without the risk of someone interrupting. That way, she could fully concentrate on opening the chamber, since Tom did say that it could be difficult to do the first time.

When Halloween finally came, Clara was jittery with nerves. She had gone to the bathroom that the entrance to the chamber was at a previous day, and the ghost that resided there - Moaning Myrtle, she later learned was her name - did make Clara a little uncomfortable with her excitement of a visitor. Myrtle had also mentioned something about a deathday party on Halloween that she was looking forward to, which made Clara sag with relief. At least she would be alone as she did this. The added factor that she was feeling a little under the weather was good, as she was expected to spend the evening in bed.

Just before the feast, Clara took Tom’s diary to the restroom, where his instructions lay across the page.

 _There will be an engraving of a snake on the side of a faucet,_ he said. _Look at it, and whisper ‘open’. It will need to be in Parstletongue, so it may take a few tries before you can make the switch._

Clara’s eyes grew wide. Parsletongue? What was so important about Parstletongue? Could she even speak it? She pursed her lips, making the mental note to look into it later. Closing the book, Clara leaned towards the faucets and quickly found the engraving. Taking a step back, she took in a deep breath. “Open.”

It did nothing.

Clara furrowed her eyebrows. “Open,” she tried again.

Nothing happened.

She let out a huff of air, before closing her eyes in concentration. “Open,”

There was a moment of silence, and as she opened her mouth to try again, a deep rumbling vibrated through the floor.

Clara opened her eyes to see the sinks sliding apart and the sink with the snake engraving sank through the floor.

“Wicked,” she said quietly, a broad smile on her lips. She opened the book, and Tom’s next instruction appeared.

_Utter the word ‘stairs’ in Parstletongue, and stairs will appear along the sides of the tunnel. Walk down them, and continue straight. Once you step onto the second step, the sinks will begin to go back to their original places. Do not be alarmed, just continue walking._

Nodding with confirmation, Clara did as told. As the stairs slid out from their spots, dust and dirt fell from the cracks. Clara took a step, noticing that they were surprisingly sturdy. As she stepped farther, Clara heard the sink raise from the floor and the others sliding back to their original positions, and she felt goosebumps rise on her skin in response. Clara shook her head with determination. She could only go down from here. Besides, it was always a nice adventure to explore places she’d never been to.

When she got to the bottom, there was a draft that made her shiver. Clara continued straight, quickly coming up to a door that had snakeheads on it, sealing it shut. She opened the diary again, to see a new set of instructions.

 _Utter the word ‘open’ again, and walk through the threshold. There will be a statue of Salazar and his legacy at the end of the passageway, to which you will say ‘Come to me, my serpent’. Leave the diary propped open, and I will assist you further._

Clara looked back up at the door and cleared her throat. The door unlocked at her first attempt, which she was glad for. Stepping through, she quickly noticed that the passageway was flooded, the walkway mostly covered with foul-smelling water. She figured that she could possibly do something to help it since she supposed that she would be spending some more time there in the future. There were large sculptures of snakes with their jaws open, mimicking the act of eating their prey, and between them near the walls, were sculptures of men and women, with smaller snakes coiling around them, the heads resting on the human’s open hands.

Clara looked away from them and quickly made her way up to the largest, and easily the most stunning, statue - which she assumed was Salazar Slytherin - where she held the diary open in her hands. She admitted to herself that she felt rather stupid doing it. She let her eyes wander and noticed that there were two smaller, though no less stunning, statues next to him - both looking as if they were young children. She wondered if they might have been Salazar’s children, or maybe his wards.

“Whisper the command, little Clara,” a voice whispered into her ear, goosebumps rising in response. “Tell her to come to you.”

Clara shivered as she obeyed. “Come to me, my serpent,”

A door opened behind the statue’s legs, a large serpent soon slithering out. Her eyes narrowed with concentration when she saw the snake, confident that she’d seen it before. Realizing it was a basilisk, Clara took in a deep breath, her heartbeat picking up significantly.

“While the basilisks cannot harm the Heir of Slytherin, she also has inner eyelids that allow her to see but not kill or petrify anyone.” the voice said, probably picking up on Clara’s panic, “tell her that the Heir has come back, and to give Hogwarts her warning.”

Swallowing thickly, Clara nodded before doing as instructed. “The Heir has come back to Hogwarts,” another swallow, “Give Hogwarts her warning.”

The basilisk blinked lazily at Clara before leaning its’ large head towards her. Clara stood frightfully still as the creature nosed her, letting out large puffs of air into Clara’s robes. The basilisk pulled back after what seemed like an eternity and slithered into one of the large pipes that surrounded the chamber.

Clara sagged with relief.

“There should be a pail of some sort located just behind Salazar’s legs.” The voice said, pulling Clara out of her momentary calm. “Retrieve it, and I shall teach you a charm that will fill it with red ink. We will use this to write our message on the wall near the Great Hall.”

She nodded with confirmation, quickly doing as instructed.

*

The next morning, Clara woke up to her feet and the hem of her nightgown being wet. She furrowed her eyebrows for a moment, trying to remember if she had gone outside or to the bathroom in the middle of the night, but nothing came to her. She supposed it might have been an odd bout of forgetfulness, or she started sleepwalking. She knew that she talked in her sleep, so it wouldn’t have been too strange if she started walking in her sleep.

Clara swung her hands across the side of the bed, startled to find a feather float to the ground. She picked it up, twirling it between her fingers.

“Almost looks like those rooster feathers Caleb always had stuck to his jacket,” Clara thought, remembering an old classmate who lived on a farm. He always brought eggs for their teacher every week and had the most interesting items for show-and-share. Clara particularly liked the reigns he had for his pony.

Clara furrowed her eyebrows again, before shaking her head. There had to be a logical explanation for it, but it was far too early in the morning to figure out what it might be.

By the time that Clara went to the Great Hall for breakfast, most of the older Slytherin students were buzzing with talk. When she sat at her normal spot, Aries slid closer to her.

“Did you hear about the writing?” he asked.

Clara looked up. He couldn’t have been talking about the writing that Clara did last night, could he? If he did, did he suspect her? “No, what writing?”

“There was writing on the wall near the Defence classroom. Said ‘The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware’. The heir of what, I wonder.”

“The heir of Slytherin, Blishwick.” Keira rolled her eyes. “You’d think that being a fifth-year you’d know what the Chamber of Secrets is.”

Aries stuck out his tongue in response, while Pollux and Castor slid into the seats next to her.

“The Chamber of Secrets was a chamber built somewhere in the castle by Salazar during the building of Hogwarts. There is said to be a creature that resides there, but what it is and for what reason, people aren’t sure of.” Kiera continued.

“Some say it was to protect the school from potential threats to the students, as he thought that Muggleborns and some Half-Bloods were untrustworthy to keep Hogwarts a secret, and would give information away to help the Muggles kill us. There were a lot of witchhunts at the time, so it makes sense.” Pollux added, grabbing a piece of toast.

“While others think that the creature was to kill all the Muggleborns for simply being Muggleborns,” Castor took a bite out of his waffles. Keira and Pollux looked at him with such an expression that he choked. “What? I heard Mother talking about it with one of her Muggleborn friends. Besides, that’s what most Muggleborns think.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Did you not hear the talk last night? It was especially bad with the Gryffindors.”

Keira rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “Yes, because they’re not biased in the least.”

“Neither are we, Keria,” Pollux replied, a firmness in his voice that Clara wasn’t used to.

“Anyway,” Aries cut in, looking back to Clara, “there’s writing about a Chamber being opened, and potentially the whole school is at risk. I’m sure the Governors’ are going to administer another school-wide search in hopes of destroying it, but I have a feeling that they’d fail this time like they did all the others.”

“So, we older Slytherins had an emergency meeting last night and made the executive decision that it would be best for the younger students to keep with the older years, specifically the Prefects,” Pollux added. “We know more defensive spells than firsties, and quite frankly, I don’t trust Lockhart.”

“No one does.” Castor agreed. “The other Prefects and a few select students, Aries and myself included, are in charge of watching the younger four years. While the fourth years are probably going to fuss, it would be in their best interest.”

“Alright,” Clara nodded. “I’ll stay close.”

“Good. I call the first shift of firstie watching.” Aries volunteered.

“I think Alex is watching the second years, though I better ask.” Keira stood, making her way up to the front of the table, where the seventh years sat.


	13. Chapter 13

The weeks passed slowly. It certainly didn’t help that Mr. Filch was patrolling the hall that Mrs. Norris apparently was petrified in (Clara thought that the petrification might have been the warning that Tom told the basilisk to administer), and the dark red letterings she had put there was still gleaming as if they had only been put on a few minutes prior. Clara felt a cold shiver travel down her spine whenever she walked passed, though she just shrugged it off as that part of Hogwarts being particularly drafty.

Over the summer, Clara was told by Harry that there would be live animals in Defense to farther clarify identification and whatnot, but Lockhart had yet to bring any animals in class. And according to Draco’s ramblings in the common room, Lockhart would be mad to attempt to do so after the fail of the pixies from his first lesson.

So instead, they read portions of his books aloud.

Clara found it absolutely ridiculous.

*

As they got closer to their first game of the season, which, as with tradition, was against the Gryffindors. On the morning of the match, Clara was in the locker room waiting on the boys to arrive. It was a muggy sort of day, and the air outside promised of lightning and rain, which she thought might have been an indication that Slytherin was going to lose the match. She could feel her skin tingling as she walked to the Quidditch pitch earlier, though she thought it might have just been her nerves. When the boys finally did come out of their wing, they brought the noise with them.

“Alright, this is the first match of the season,” Flint rubbed his hands together. “We’ve practiced hard these two months, which should give us an edge. Malfoy, I have no doubt that you’re a better Seeker than Potter, so don’t let him distract you. Avery, Blishwick, keep the Bludgers on Chasers - you might even try to use them to wedge the Quaffle free from them.” He gave each of them a look before giving them a firm nod. “Let’s go.”

Clara gulped down her nerves, taking her broom from its spot on the wall. They walked out to the pitch, where Madame Hooch was standing in the center - Gryffindor was on the other side. The Slytherins cheered when they walked out, although the rest of the school booed. Clara blushed with embarrassment.

“Now, I want a nice, fair game. All of you,” Madame Hooch said, her voice ringing through the cheers. Clara didn’t miss the sharp look she gave Flint. Castor chuckled beside him, and Flint elbowed him in response.

“Mount your brooms,” she ordered.

Clara swung her leg over the Nimbus 2001. Her palms started getting sweaty, and she was infinitely glad for the gloves provided.

At the sound of the whistle, fifteen brooms rose into the air. At the next sound, the Quaffle was tossed into the air, and the game began.

“Graham Montegue takes the Quaffle and barrels past the Gryffindor Chasers - wait, Angela Johnson steals!” the commentator cheered, enticing the same response from the rest of the crowd. “She quickly takes the Quaffle down the pitch, tossing it to Spinnet - only for the newest Slytherin Chaser Clara Potter to take it! She barrels through the pitch, making a neat pass to Flint, who throws to Montegue, and score! Gryffindor Keeper Oliver Wood misses by a hair! Ten points to Slytherin!”

The Slytherins cheered, accompanied by the groans of the Gryffindors.

Five times more the Gryffindors took the Quaffle, and five times more the Slytherins scored. Clara started to pant as she felt a raindrop fall on her nose, quickly followed by another that landed on her exposed wrist. Startled, she spared a glance up, only to see Harry dodging a Bludger that wouldn’t leave him alone.

Clara pursed her lips, thinking.

“Chaser Potter takes the Quaffle again, only to pass it to - no, she isn’t passing it! She hurdles it straight into a Bludger near Seeker Potter, the Bludger hurdling towards Flint who dodges it! The Bludger continues towards Wood, only for it to redirect its’ path. Chaser Potter catches the Quaffle, takes advantage of Wood’s distractedness, and she scores!”

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Flint demanded. “That could have hit me!”

“Collateral damage, Flint,” Aries quickly replied, knocking a Bludger into one of the Gryffindor Chasers, blocking her from scoring. “Don’t say you wouldn’t do the same for a chance to take the Keeper out.”

Flint just glared in response, his jaw setting. “We’ll finish this later.”

Clara sighed, nodding her head.

Soon after, Oliver Wood called for a time out. Clara was immensely grateful, as her hand grip was starting to get a little slack. When they landed, Flint immediately went up to Clara.

“Why did you hit that Bludger in my direction, Potter?” He growled, his face contorting into an ugly shape.

“The Bludger was getting too close to Harry,” Clara answered, crossing her arms. “And you were in the unfortunate direction of where it went.”

“So? If it took him out, we’d win the game!”

“He’s my brother!”

“So what if he’s your brother! He’s on the opposing team! You never prioritize your family on top of your team, Potter.” He scowled at her. “On second thought, are you sure he isn’t some acquaintance of yours that you’re trying to win the approval of? Make his abandonment a little less sad.”

Clara felt her stomach drop. “He hasn’t abandoned me,”

“Sure looks like he did. Ignoring you every chance he gets. He has yet to acknowledge that you even play Quidditch, which is the sport that he - and I say this with intense unwillingness - is actually good at." Flint crossed his arms, giving her a once-over, his lips curling into a cruel sneer. "If anything I’d think that those carrot-top twins are your brothers. Same hair, same freckles, even that eye of yours matches them. If it weren’t for the green one, I’d say you were a Weasley. It doesn’t help that they seem to tolerate you more than that Seeker of theirs.”

Clara’s lip wobbled a little as she felt familiar stings at the back of her eyes.

“Break’s over,” Madame Hooch’s voice rang.

“Don’t aim the Bludger at me again. In fact, if you even touch the Quaffle for the rest of the game, I’ll personally see to it that you get off the team one way or another.” With that, Flint mounted his broom and took off.

Clara stood there for a second, gathering her bearings.

“Don’t listen to him, Clara.” Castor placed his hand on her shoulder. “He’s just being a jerk.”

Clara sighed. “Whatever you say.”

When Madame Hooch’s whistle sounded, she mounted her broom and shot up into the air. Clara tried her best to distract the Gryffindor Chasers, flying in front of them just as they were clear to take the Quaffle, discouraging a pass.

There was a gasp in the crowd as Clara saw Harry race down towards the ground. Clara’s throat went impossibly dry as she urged her broom to chase after him, pelting towards the ground. Just as Harry made contact with the ground, her broom was redirected abruptly by Montegue grabbing the handle.

“Don’t be an idiot.” He frowned jerking his head to where Harry laid. “Potter’s fine.”

“No, he’s not!”

“Yes, he is. He got the Snitch, and we lost.”

Clara looked back to Harry, who was surrounded by Gryffindors and Lockhart.

“Let’s go. We’re done here.” Flint called, his voice sounding incredibly tight.

Clara turned, following the others into their dressing rooms. As soon as she shut the door to hers, Flint exploded, shouting at the others - shouting at Draco, especially. Clara rested her forehead against the wood of the door, listening. When she was mentioned, she couldn’t help but feel shivers run down her spine as explicit words exited his mouth.

This was going to be a long season.

*

Clara quickly found out that Harry broke his arm when a bludger hit it. To make matters worse, Lockhart managed to get rid of all the bones in his arm in an attempt to heal him. When she tried to go to the hospital wing to visit him, she was stopped by the Gryffindor Chasers, who were convinced that Clara had done something to the Bludger after she had hit it with the Quaffle.

Clara left the hospital wing, feeling rather dull. Her mood worsened when Pansy and Daphene spotted her near the library.

“Ah, there’s the new Chaser,” Daphene started.

“And a letdown, she is.” Pansy agreed. “There’s a reason that the first years are never on the team. They can never hold their own.”

“And their loyalty is flakey. Willing to sabotage their own teammate for the approval of someone who doesn’t even like them.” Daphne shook her head. “What a joke.”

Clara bristled. “Harry does too like me!”

“Does he?” Pansy’s eyebrows rose. “Because I have never heard of him talk about a little sister. Did you, Daphene?”

“No, never,”

They looked at each other before their gaze went back to Clara.

“Why are you still here, Potter?”

“I-I’m sorry?”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “You’re such an idiot. Why are you still at Hogwarts?”

“I’m afraid I don’t-”

“No one wants you here, Potter.” Daphne interrupted. “Not that brother of yours, not his friends, not our head of house who can’t even look at you. Everyone knows he hasn’t paid you any attention since you first entered the Great Hall.”

Clara could feel the beginnings of tears behind her eyes, though she ignored them. It was true that Snape completely ignored her during Potions, although giving his full attention to the other Slytherins and praising them for completing a potion to his standard. It made her feel very small more than once, especially when the Hufflepuffs gave her sympathetic looks. Clara looked at her hands, trying to think of what to say. “Maybe he-”

“I am willing to bet he just can’t bring himself to look at you.” Pansy started. “And I can hardly blame him, with a face like yours. I don’t even think your dead parents could love you.”

“Maybe it wasn’t You-Know-Who who did it.” Daphne continued. “Maybe it was that ugly face of yours. They just couldn’t bear looking at such an ugly, mutilated creature that they offed themselves.”

“Can’t say I blame them.” Pansy nodded. “You do have monstrous eyes. Who even has different colored eyes, to begin with?”

“Merlin had heterochromia.” Another voice said.

Clara looked up from her hands, hoping that it wasn’t someone who would join in. Noticing that it was Malfoy, she dropped her gaze again. He was going to side with them for sure.

“What do you mean, Draco?” Pansy asked, her voice taking a sweet tone.

“Merlin – the greatest wizard ever and fellow Slytherin – had different colored eyes. One was green and the other was blue.” He walked over to them, standing between Clara and the two girls. “If Clara’s eyes are monstrous, then so were Merlin’s.”

The girls pursed their lips before turning and walking off.

Draco faced Clara. “I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,”

“No, it’s not. I don’t know if you know this, but Slytherins are supposed to take care of their own. That means no bullying.”

“But Slytherins bully students from other houses,”

Draco sighed, crossing his arms. “Harry told you that, didn’t he?”

“Bit difficult not to come to that conclusion when I see it just about every day.”

At least Draco had the decency to blush at that. “I will not defend my actions, nor will I change them. Harry insulted me deeply.”

“How?”

“You wouldn’t understand. It’s a Pureblood thing.”

Clara gave him a hard look before stomping off. If Draco didn’t think she would understand why he was insulted purely because she wasn’t a Pureblood, then she didn’t need to be near him.


	14. Chapter 14

It was during breakfast the next day that she learned about another petrification, a Gryffindor boy in her year by the name of Colin Creevy. Clara’s eyebrows furrowed as she stared at her eggs, trying to remember if Colin was ever mean to Harry, but nothing came to mind. Tom had told her that the basilisk would only attack those who did harm Harry while intimidating the others from doing so - wouldn’t Crabbe or Goyle have been a better fit if that was the case?

Colin had only ever been kind to her brother. True, he could get a little annoying with his photos near-constant chatter, but he was never cruel. After breakfast, Clara quietly snuck away from the Great Hall and scurried off to a secluded area near the Black Lake where she was guaranteed privacy. She had a few questions for Tom and didn’t want to run the risk of someone finding her. There was a large tree with a gigantic trunk, with a little alcove in the roots. It was a little difficult to find but was surprisingly comfortable to lay in.

_ The basilisk didn’t do what you said it would, _ Clara finally wrote, the diary propped against the knees.

_ What do you mean? _

_ You said that it would stop the ones who want to hurt Harry. It petrified someone who was only ever kind to him. _

_ And who is this person the basilisk petrified? _

_ A first-year who carries a camera around with him. _

_ Does this first-year ask Harry for photos? _

Clara’s eyes narrowed. What did that have to do with Colin’s petrification?  _ Yes, he does. _

_ How often? _

_ Once a week or so. He wants to show his family that he met Harry. _

_ There is the possibility he doesn’t just want to show his family Harry’s picture, little Clara. _ Tom explained.  _ People would pay good money for a picture of such a celebrity as Harry. Someone might even hurt Harry for a picture. _

_ What does that have to do with Colin? _

_ Colin would be the advocate for such actions. He knows what extent others would go for access to Harry, and thus enable others to harm him. _

Clara sagged. She thought she could understand, but there was still the trickle of doubt. But she could ignore it for the sake of Harry.  _ So, the basilisk just prevented Harry from getting harmed in the future? _

_ Exactly. _

_ Thank you for your explanation. _

_ You’re quite welcome, little Clara. _

“What are you writing?”

Clara’s head jerked up, only to smile when she saw the serpent looking at her with curiosity.

Clara closed the book and set it to the side. The serpent started setting its head on her lap as of recently, and she didn’t want it to get wet.“Nothing of great importance. What are you doing over here?”

“I was looking for something to play with, and I felt you.” The serpent answered, slithering out of the lake. “How was your game yesterday?”

“It was miserable. Flint got mad at me, and the Gryffindors won.”

“I’m sure you’ll win the next game. You probably had first-game jitters.”

Clara sighed, picking at a stray twig. “I doubt Flint will let me play in the next game, though.”

“Why?”

“I threw a Bludger at him. Well, not at him, at him. In his general direction.”

The serpent flicked its’ tongue out, no doubt waiting for more information.

“There was a Bludger that wouldn’t leave Harry alone,” Clara continued, “so I hit it with the Quaffle and sent it going the opposite direction. Flint was in the way, but he dodged it. After that Flint didn’t want me to touch the Quaffle for the rest of the game.”

“I’m sure he was just jealous. Flint’s not a very strong individual. Very weak magic.”

Clara lifted an eyebrow. “Oh?”

*

For quite some time, things were quiet, except for the mornings that Clara woke up to find water on her shoes and feathers in her clothes. She admitted that it was starting to get a little weird, but she didn’t know who to talk to about it. When she developed the nerve to talk to Keira, she found that the Prefect was a lot busier than Clara anticipated, and she wasn’t about to ask Professor Snape for help. 

Lockhart started a dueling club a couple of weeks after that, and it was quickly discovered that Harry was a Parstlemouth, and the speculation of who opened the chamber quickly fell on him.

“Potter couldn’t have really opened the chamber, right?” Clara heard Keira ask one night. “The Potters have been strictly Gryffindor for decades.”

Clara looked around the stone wall to the dorms, only to see the six prefects sitting around a table. There were food and drinks on it, accompanied by playing cards - both Muggle and Magical. Curious, Clara inched closer.

“Salazar lived a thousand years ago, Keira,” Pollux answered. “It is quite possible that they’re related.”

“But what about Clara? I’ve never heard her speak Parseltongue.”

Hearing her name, Clara leaned against the stone wall, feeling the coolness of the surface seeping through her skin. She crouched down, pulling her knees up to her chest to get somewhat comfortable.

“It’s possible the skill skipped over her.” Charlotte Brown - a sixth-year prefect - offered.

“Not likely,” Anthony Stark - the seventh-year Head Boy - crossed his arms. “There was only one other known family of Parselmouths - the Gaunts - and everyone had the ability. They were the worst of the Purebloods’ inbreeding in an attempt to keep the talent to themselves.”

“I think she is a Parselmouth,” Evan Richards - a sixth-year prefect - said, after a moment of silence. “I heard some hissing the other day when I was walking past the greenhouses, and Clara was near some bushes by the lake. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was talking to a snake,”

“If she is one, and it gets out, she could be in for a very difficult year,” Charlotte murmured. “Potter has already been shunned by some of his classmates shortly after the accident with the Muggleborn Hufflepuff. What was his name?”

“Justin Finch-Fletchley.”

“Yes, and with all the ‘Parseltongue is the language of Muggleborn haters’ stigma going around, it could get very dirty very quickly.”

“Then that settles it, then.” Anthony stood up. “We need to keep an eye out for her. Intervene if there are students surrounding her, and offer support where it would be helpful. Remember, Clara is one of us, and Slytherins stick together.”

*

The next day, Clara was shocked to see just how shunned Harry was. His friends Ron and Hermione were the only ones who paid him any attention - aside from the occasional teasing by the Weasley Twins - while the other students went out of their way to create a large gap between him and them. Clara could see that he was beginning to get very upset by it all, and she pursed her lips in determination. If only she could get to Justin and make him see reason. She teased the idea of the basilisk teaching the Hufflepuff a lesson, though she quickly shook it out of her head. While it might work to prevent further accusations, it could also do harm to Harry as it would be seen as him getting revenge.

No, it would be better if the basilisk attacked one of Justin’s friends. But who?

“There has been another attack,” Clara heard one of her dormmates say later that day.

“Who?”

“Justin Finch-Fletchley. Potter found him in the halls, along with the Gryffindor ghost.”

A gasp. “Do you think he’s getting aggressive now?”

Clara closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Nothing she could do about it now. All she could hope for is that the basilisk has done its job for now and that the rumors around Harry will calm down.

But, it wasn’t to be. After Justin’s petrification, the rumors started buzzing more. Clara was glad that Christmas break was coming soon, and most of the students were leaving. With luck, they will forget about it when they come back. After all, the new semester would be starting, and Castor and Aries were already grumbling about the amount of work they would be doing.

“There will be no games until February,” Flint told them at their last practice before the finals, “so if you can get on a Pitch and do a few exercises a day, that would be best. If not, then continue the stretches and indoor workouts.”

The team nodded in response, while Clara mentally groaned. She hated the indoor workouts, as she was more often sore than not.

“When we get back on the pitch, I want nothing but perfection. If we’re going to win the House Cup, either we win the rest of the games or we hope that Potter goes into a coma, like he did last year.”

With that, Flint let them go. Clara was the first to leave that time and quickly made for the library. She had a lot of herbology she needed to study if she was going to get top marks on the exam.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time, it's told from the point of view of Harry! Thought I'd give him a go, and get some of his insight of what's happening!

Today was the day. Today was the last day of exams before Christmas break, and Harry could hardly wait. He was so excited to be done with the exams and to have three weeks off from school. After today, he could sleep in as much as he wanted, eat as much as he could, and spend as much time with Clara as he desired. He might even be able to go down to the Slytherin Dungeons with her if she didn’t want to come up to the Gryffindor tower.

“Ready for today?” he heard Ron ask as he slid out of bed that morning.

“Ready for exams to be over,” he groaned, digging through his trunk for fresh clothes.

“What about the potion?”

Harry stalled. “Potion? What potion? Were we supposed to have a potion for Snape?”

“No, that was yesterday. The potion that’s done brewing this evening. Don’t tell me you forgot about it.”

Oh, so today was  _ that _ day, too! Harry smiled sheepishly at the realization. “Oops.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “You’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached to your neck.”

*

Later that day, Hemione gave Harry and Ron two cakes stuffed with the Sleeping Draught, which they were to use on Crabbe and Goyle so that they wouldn’t barge in as they were trying to interrogate Malfoy. Hermione already took care of Millicent Bulstrode, so Harry guessed it actually worked.

While the cakes were levitated in the hallway leading to the Great Hall, Ron finally voiced the question Harry had the entire day. “Do you think Crabbe and Goyle are thick enough to eat cakes like that?”

“We can only hope so,” Harry answered, crouching farther behind the statue he hid behind.

When the two in question finally arrived, they paused at the sight of the cakes, before quickly eating them. Ron and Harry shared a look while Crabbe and Goyle ate, and when they looked back out the two Slytherins were passed out on the ground.

Harry heaved a sigh. “Guess it’s time for the heavy work.”

They pulled Crabbe and Goyle into a broom closet, plucked the hairs, and stole their clothes before quickly walking to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, where Hermione was finishing up the Polyjuice potion.

“Do you think that we’ll find out if Malfoy really is the heir of Slytherin?” Ron asked, wrestling Crabbe’s vest over his head. “He’s been awful quiet lately.”

“I hope so,” Harry slipped on Goyle’s robe. “This might be the only chance we get.”

When they finally got to the bathroom, Harry gagged. The Polyjuice potion smelled as awful as it looked for the past week.

“I know it’s not a nice smell, but it should work.” Hermione supplied when she let them through.

“Should?” Ron asked.

“Well, it didn’t come out  _ exactly _ as the book said it should have. But I talked to Percy earlier about it, and he said that it should still do the job.”

Ron paled. “You talked to Percy?!”

“I used the word ‘hypothetically’.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“What difference does that make?!”

“Can we get on with it? I don’t want to smell it any more than I have to.” Harry said.

Hermione quickly got the goblets and set them on the side of the sink next to the cauldron. As she measured it out, Ron gagged.

“Why didn’t we ask Clara again?” He asked, eyeing the potion distrustfully. “I bet she could get some answers out of him.”

“Because I haven’t been able to get to her,” Harry reminded him. “She’s been avoiding me since we got here.”

“I’m sure it’s just the exams on her mind,” Hermione supplied. “I’ve been worried about them for months.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “I doubt Clara’s as obsessed with good marks as you, Hermione.”

Hermione gave him a look that had Ron quickly looking to the ground.

“Alright, take a goblet.” She instructed.

They did so.

“Add the hairs,”

Harry put in Goyle’s hair, gagging again when the potion bubbled. Harry and Ron looked at each other.

“Down it goes,” Ron said, quickly pinching his nose and tossing his head back to make it go down faster.

Harry and Hermione followed suit, dropping their goblets when the rancid tastes registered. Hermione and Ron ran to a cubical, while Harry placed his hands on the sink in front of him. His insides felt like he swallowed live snakes, quickly followed by a burning feeling that traveled from his toes to the tips of his fingers. Soon after, he felt like he got dumped in hot wax as his fingers thickened and grew, coupled with his height increasing. His shoulders stretched to fit the uniform better, and his feet grew to comfortably fit the shoes on his feet.

As soon as the feelings started, they stopped. Harry took in deep breaths, trying to calm the harsh beating of his heart. He looked at the mirror and furrowed his eyebrows when he saw someone behind him.

“Ron?” he asked, momentarily startled when it was Goyle’s deep voice coming out instead of his own.

The figure looked up. “Yeah?”

“Just making sure it’s you.”

Ron nodded in acknowledgment, though paused when he saw himself in the mirror. “Unbelievable,”

“We better get going. We’ve still got to find out where the Slytherin common room is. I can only hope we find someone we can follow,”

Ron nodded again and knocked on Hermione’s stall door. “C’mon, we need to go,”

“I-I don’t think I’m going after all. You can go without me.”

“Hermione, we know what Bulstrode looks like.”

“No - really - I don’t think I’ll come. You two hurry up, you’re wasting time.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “I’m coming in, Hermione.” Ron opened the door carefully, only to gape at what he saw.

“What is it?” Harry asked, peering through.

Hermione, who had her back to them, turned slowly.

Harry’s jaw dropped.

Instead of Bulstrode’s face that he was expecting, it was the face of Bulstrode’s cat. It wasn’t a complete transformation, but it was definitely enough to cause some issues.

“Look at my face,” Hermione said glumly.

Harry and Ron shared a look.

*

After escorting Hermione to the Hospital Wing, Harry and Ron quickly made their way down to the dungeons. Though half-way there, they were stopped by Percy.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Percy asked.

“W-what are you doing down ‘ere?” Ron asked.

Percy rolled his eyes. “I happen to be a Prefect. I have the authority to be down here, unlike you. So I ask again - what are you doing?”

Harry opened his mouth to answer, only to stop when he heard Malfoy behind them.

“Crabbe, Goyle, this is where you’ve been?” Malfoy quickly made his way to them, shaking his head as he neared. “No doubt pigging out in the Great Hall again.” He stopped when he saw Harry, peering at him.

Harry gulped, hoping that Malfoy couldn’t see his scar.

“Why are you wearing glasses?”

Harry’s hand flew to his face, quickly taking them off. “Oh-uh, I was, um, reading.”

Draco’s eyebrows rose. “I didn’t know you could read.” His gaze turned to Percy. “What are you doing down here, Weasley?”

Percy’s face grew impossibly red, before pivoting and walking away. Harry could have sworn he said something about underclassmen.

“Well, come along. Haven’t got all night.”

Ron and Harry quickly followed, still not used to the excessive size of their feet.

“Weasley’s been sneaking around here recently. I’ll bet he’s going to catch the Slytherin Heir single-handedly.” Draco gave a single laugh before pausing at a bare stretch of stone. “What was the new password again?”

Harry gulped. “Er-”

“Oh, yeah -  _ Purosangue _ .”

A stone door concealed in the wall opened. Malfoy marched through, Harry and Ron following.

Harry’s eyes grew wide when he saw the common room and noticed that there were probably only seven students there, including him, Ron, and Malfoy. His eyes zeroed in on Clara, who was sitting in one of the plush-looking chairs by one of the many fireplaces, reading. Parkinson and Greengrass were near her, giggling.

Harry’s eyes narrowed.

There was a plop, and his attention went back to Malfoy, who was giving them an unimpressed look.

“Well, sit down.”

Harry looked at the couch that was opposite Malfoy and sat. It was a lot more comfortable than he would have thought just from looking at it.

“I’m surprised that the Daily Prophet hasn’t reported these attacks,” Malfoy started, and Harry looked back to Clara.

Parkinson and Greengrass were closer to her now.

“I suppose Dumbledore’s trying to hush it all up,” Malfoy continued. “Father always did say that he was the worst thing to ever happen to this place.”

“You’re wrong!” Harry defended, though quickly realizing what he did wrong.

Malfoy stood up, his face twisting unpleasantly. “What? You think there’s someone worse than Dumbledore?”

Harry opened his mouth to reply, only to be cut off by a shriek of pain.

Harry, Malfoy, and Ron turned to see Clara on the ground, yanking her hands out of the fireplace. Parkinson was in the process of pushing her farther in, nearly toppling Clara into the dying flames.

Harry lunged forward - Ron not far behind - but faltered when he noticed that Draco was already half-way there. Thinking that Malfoy was going to hurt Clara, he rushed forward again.

“How  _ dare _ you!” Malfoy yelled, his voice at a volume Harry doubted he ever heard from the boy. “How dare you treat her like that!” Malfoy reached for Clara, pulling her towards him and quickly slapped the flames out of her clothes.

Harry and Ron came to an abrupt stop.

“This is enough! We’re Slytherins, Pansy! Slytherins take care of our own, or have you forgotten?!”

“She’s not one of us-” Greengrass tried, though was interrupted by Malfoy.

“‘Not one of us’?! She was sorted into Slytherin like the rest of us! She has just enough right to be here as you do, if not more!” He glared at them. “I will be telling Snape about this, make no doubt. And if I see you two bullying her again, I swear on my magic that I will make sure you are punished thoroughly! Do you understand?!”

At their flushed nods, Malfoy glared at them as he turned Clara away from them and marched her back to his seat, Harry and Ron following.

“Not a Slytherin,” he grumbled. “They’re the ones who are not Slytherins. We take care of each other because Merlin knows no one else will.” After healing the burns on her hands, Malfoy looked her over. “Hurt anywhere?”

Clara shook her head, tears streaming down her face as her shoulders shook.

Harry vibrated with rage. He wanted nothing more than to pummel Parkinson and Greengrass, though it would have to wait until he was back to normal. He would cause more harm like this, but it would be far more satisfying as his normal self.

Ron put a hand on Harry’s back, taking him out of such thoughts.

“It’ll be alright. They won’t have the nerve to hurt you again.” Malfoy tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

Harry wanted to rip Malfoy’s hand off Clara. How dare he touch her?

“Your hair’s not singed, luckily. You might be a bit tender, though.” He offered her a gentle smile.

“W-why did y-you s-say I h-have m-more right to be in S-Slytherin?” Clara hiccupped.

“Because you actually bring pride and talent to our house,” Draco answered. “Not only are you the youngest Chaser in forever, but you’re bloody excellent at it and are easily the best player on our team - after me, of course.”

Harry opened his mouth to say Malfoy was wrong, though stopped when he heard Clara laugh.

“Not to mention that you’re brilliant at potions. Whenever I help Snape with his grading of the first years, your potions were always the best. I’m even willing to make the bet that you’re the smartest little witch in the entire school.”

Harry preened with pride from hearing Clara’s accomplishments. He only wished that he could show her right then and there, so he made the note to find her tomorrow to congratulate her.

Clara ducked her head, looking at her hands.

Malfoy rubbed Clara’s back and looked back at them. “Who were you going to say was the worst for Hogwarts, Goyle? I’m curious.”

Harry blinked several times, his mouth opening and closing several times. “Uh, Harry Potter?”

Malfoy’s gaze went hard and Clara stiffened, before leaving in the direction he assumed was for the dorms.

“Yes. Saint Potter,” he spat. “People actually think he’s the Heir of Slytherin?”

“Then you must have some idea who is,” Harry said, watching Clara walk up the stairs. Why did she leave when he said his name?

“I don’t, Goyle. How many times do I have to tell you that? And how many times do I have to tell you to not mention  _ him _ when Clara’s around? It’s bad enough she has to see him every day.”

That got Harry’s attention. “Wha- why?”

“Why? Why? Are you thick? It’s because he hates her, that’s why! First, he never mentions her, then he totally ignores her. To be honest, that’s what upset me most about him right now. Can’t even take care of his sister. Has he any idea how lucky he is to have a sibling?” Malfoy ranted.

He might have said more on the subject, but Harry’s attention was elsewhere. His thoughts were jumbling together up until he noticed the streaks of red growing back in Ron’s hair. When he pointed it out, Ron pointed towards Harry’s scar. Glancing back at Malfoy, he was pleased to note that he was now glowering at the books sitting on one of the desks.

Harry and Ron got up from the couch and moved as quickly towards the door as their large feet would take them.

“Hey, where are you going?” Malfoy asked, which made them move all the faster. When they made it to Myrtle’s bathroom, they stopped for a breath of air.

“Can you believe the nerves of them?” Ron asked. “Picking on their own housemates.”

“Parkinson and Greengrass?” Harry panted.

“Yes, those two. I always did get bad vibes from them. And to think that Malfoy swore on his magic to punish them.” Ron shook his head, slipping on his own clothes and dumping Crabbe’s clothes onto the floor. “I wonder what Malfoy’s definition of punishment is. Must be something awful.”

“What does it mean to swear on your magic?”

“It’s like an Unbreakable Vow, but less severe.”

“Unbreakable Vow?”

“A vow that you can’t break or else you die. Swearing on your magic means you just lose your magic if you break your promise. Malfoy must have been really pissed off, which surprises me. Wouldn’t you think that he would assist them? Given his pureblooded stuck-upness and all.”

Harry shook his head. Why hadn’t Clara told him about the girls when they first started bullying her? But most of all, why did she think he hated her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter's up! Sorry about the lateness, my end of the year exams and papers are biting me in the butt. Be forewarned for next week or two or three, if I don't end up updating! It's because school sucks big time right now.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate the end of my semester, here's a chapter! *throws confetti* If you're in school, I hope you get out soon, and if you're done with school, I hope life goes well for you this summer!!

Harry had difficulty sleeping that night. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he learned, and he couldn’t reason with what he saw. He had tried several times throughout the semester to get Clara’s attention, though she never did acknowledge him. True, he was upset when the Slytherins came to the pitch and interrupted their practice and became down-right furious when they made fun of Ron when his jinx backfired. Had she thought his fury was directed at her, and not Malfoy? She did seem quite nervous throughout summer vacation and her self-esteem seemed more than just a little bruised when he came back from Hogwarts. He also knew that she hated the thought of being in Slytherin, let it be for reasons similar to him or reasons her own - and when she got sorted and didn’t see him right after must have been a major blow in her self-worth.

By the time that the sun rose, Harry sat up, staring at his hands. Christmas was the next day, and now that he knew the Slytherin password, he could corner Clara and get a solid answer from her. He knew that it wasn’t going to be easy getting her to talk to him again after how he acted, especially after his neglect of keeping in contact last year. Harry’s eyebrows furrowed, remembering what Clara told him. What exactly had Uncle Vernon and Aunt Marge said to Clara that made her doubt him? And why did Clara call Aunt Marge ‘Miss Marge’?

Harry swung his legs off the side of the bed, jumping onto the floor with a solid ‘thunk’ and moving to wake Ron up. He had a lot to do for his apology later, and Harry wanted to make sure that Clara would like his gift for her.

*

Clara woke up slowly, feeling particularly sluggish after what happened last night. She doubted that Pansy and Daphne would do it again, but it was nice to know that they would be gone for the break. But, she had to admit that she was confused by what Draco said about him swearing on his magic. When she asked Tom later that night and explained it all to her (and the gravity of the situation should he not carry it out), she was even more confused. Why would Draco risk his magic on someone like her? And why did Tom tell her to keep Draco extra close to her? Clara shook her head with the thought. As if Draco would want to be around her any more than he already had to.

Leaning over the side of the bed, Clara plucked her bookbag from its spot on the desk chair and settled it on the bed beside her. There was a lot of homework assigned, and she didn’t want to run the risk of getting behind.

But, she considered, she wouldn’t be doing anything. No one would be sending her any gifts, so she wouldn’t be sidetracked by them. Most everyone in Slytherin was gone, too, so she wouldn’t be distracted by them, either.

Clara shook her head once more. No, she had to get it done, and then she would be free to do as she liked. Though she did have the feeling that she’d be spending most of it sleeping.

*

When the next day rolled around, Clara jumped when she heard knocking on the door. Stepping onto the stone floor, Clara walked slowly to the door and reached out to the brass door handle. She considered simply not opening it, though curiosity got the best of her. Grasping it, she turned it, hearing the soft ‘click’. Swinging the door open, she was met with the last thing she was expecting.

“Merry Christmas!” Harry cheered, holding a wrapped present out to her.

Clara slammed the door shut, leaning into it. No way. No. Flippin’. Way. Maybe this was a dream. There was no way that Harry was in the Slytherin dorms and was outside her door. She raced to her bed and brought the covers over her head. Maybe if she fell asleep, everything would be back to normal when she woke up again.

“Clara?” She heard him ask through the door. “Are you alright? May I come in?”

She didn’t answer.

“Well, I’m coming in.”

The handle rattled before there was a creak of the hinges.

Clara peeked out from under her blanket and saw Harry coming closer to her. She buried her face into the mattress.

“I know this isn’t what you were expecting, but I think we need to talk,” Harry said, the mattress sagging under his weight. “Especially about my treatment towards you for the past couple of months.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Clara answered, her voice muffled.

“Yes, there is. Come out from under the blanket, so I can see you.”

The blanket remained where it was, and Harry sighed. Clara felt the fabric moving, and Harry’s face suddenly a few inches from her own.

“Rather stuffy under this, don’t you think?”

“What are you doing?”

“Talking to you. You didn’t want to come to me, so I came to you.”

Clara gave him a calculated look. “Why do you care now?”

“Because it has come to my attention that my little sister doubts my loyalty to her.”

Clara didn’t say anything.

Harry sighed. “I can’t offer any explanations why I let it get this bad and my behavior towards you was inexcusable, but I can promise you that it will not happen again. I should have realized that it would take longer than the summer to prove that I did not get bored with you, that I don’t think of you as some sort of burden - or whatever else you thought of - and I should have paid you more attention than I did when we arrived.”

She remained silent for a moment, taking it in. “Then you’re not upset with me being sorted into Slytherin?”

Harry shook his head. “No. True, I was a little gutted that I couldn’t be with you as often as I could have if you were in Gryffindor, but I don’t care anymore. This simply means that you can help me get back at Malfoy.”

“So you’re not going to kick me out of the Potter name?”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“Ginny said that you were going to take me off the Potter vaults because you can’t trust a slimy snake, and Pansy and Daphne said that it would be best if you kick me out of the Potter name - making me a nobody with no connections and no hope.”

Harry let out a laugh. “No, I’m not going to do that to you.”

“Then why were you so upset at me when we first practiced?”

“What?”

“When you were helping Ron to Hagrid after the jinx backfired, you glared at me.”

Harry sighed. “I wasn’t glaring at you, Clara. I was glaring at Malfoy, who happened to be right behind you. I don’t know what I was thinking at that moment, but it was mostly frustration to the Slytherins in general.”

“So you’re not mad?”

“No, I’m not mad. In fact, I am incredibly proud of you. Youngest Slytherin Chaser? Top of your class? We should celebrate!”

“How?”

“By opening presents! I brought you one, and I saw loads of presents at the foot of your bed. I brought mine down so we could open them together.”

“Presents?”

Harry gave her a quizzical look, before smiling at her. “Aside from what I brought you, there are presents at the foot of your bed. You can’t open them from here.”

“I have presents?” Clara echoed.

“Didn’t you know that your friends would get you anything?”

Clara blinked several times, trying to keep her emotions in check. She hadn’t really spoken to anyone at Hogwarts without having been spoken to first, and even then it was usually in short answers. “I-I don’t think I have friends,” she finally admitted.

Harry’s smile dropped. “Sure you do,”

She shook her head.

“What about your dormmates? Hermione mentioned that you always sit next to each other.”

“That’s because of the seatings. Housemates sit next to housemates.”

“Then what about the Slytherin Beaters? They’re around you a lot.”

“That’s because they have to walk me and the other first-years to classes.”

Harry let out a deep breath. “Well, there are still presents for you. Do you want to open any?”

Clara shook her head.

“What about mine? Do you want to see what I got you?”

“I didn’t get you anything,”

“That’s fine. You can get me something extra special when my birthday comes around. Does that sound good?”

Clara nodded, earning one of Harry’s hair ruffling.

“How did you get down here, anyway?”

Harry gave her a shy grin. “I might have been able to haggle it out of Malfoy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie, this chapter felt exceedingly weird to me. But, I don't think I could have made it less weird, so I'll have to live with it. I hope you enjoyed!


	17. Chapter 17

By the time that the Potter siblings made it out of the Slytherin dorms, the sun was about to set. They decided to head for the Great Hall in search of something to eat, which was fortunate as Clara’s stomach was making odd noises. It was surprisingly empty when they got there, and Ron was there to greet them. Ron was wearing what looked like a hand-knitted, thick maroon sweater with a large ‘R’ in the middle. It looked awfully comfortable, and Clara felt herself bristle with jealousy. Quickly, she shook the feeling away. There was no need for her to feel such a thing, and it was rather stupid that she did in the first place.

“I see the talk went well?”

Harry nodded. “Got some things cleared up, too.”

“That’s good. What started it?”

Clara looked to her clasped hands when Harry looked to her to answer. When it became evident she wouldn’t, he sighed.

“Part of it was my fault and the aversion to Slytherins, but the other part was Ginny’s.”

Ron’s eyebrows furrowed. “Ginny’s? How?”

“Ginny said Clara would be taken off the Potter vaults because of where she got sorted, or whatever that means. There’s only one that I know of.”

Ron’s face grew impossibly red before shooting out of his seat. Clara shrank into herself.

“Ron?” Harry asked. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m going to talk some sense into a sister of mine.” He muttered. “Taking her off the Potter vaults?! Or even just one vault?! That’s like saying that Clara is no longer part of your family! She knows better than that!” With that, Ron stalked off, his feet loudly making contact with the stone floor.

Harry and Clara’s gaze followed him before Clara’s focus snapped back to the food in front of her. She grabbed one of the sandwiches, quickly eating it. Harry did the same, though ate at a much slower rate.

“Clara,” he started. “I want to ask you about what happened last year.”

Clara stopped. “What’s there to ask?”

“You mentioned that Aunt Marge and Uncle Vernon told you that I didn’t care about you after Christmas break. You called her ‘Miss Marge’ when I came back.”

Clara shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

Harry gave her a curious look, before looking away. “Alright then.”

The doors swung open once more, Percy rushing in. But, instead of his freshly pressed Hogwarts robes and shiny Prefect pin, Percy had on a deep maroon knitted sweater with a giant yellow ‘P’ in the middle. It must have been the Weasley sweater that Harry said Mrs. Weasley made for them and Harry last Christmas. “I heard about what Ginny said. Are you alright, Clara?”

Her gaze shifted up from his sweater, and her eyebrow lifted. “Why are you so hung up on what Ginny told me?”

“For one thing, it wasn’t her place to make such a comment. For another, the act of taking someone off a vault is to disown them, essentially leaving them without a name. Names carry a lot of weight in the wizarding world, and being nameless is the most damaging thing someone can do, without outright killing them.”

Clara’s eyes grew wide.

“If you notice,” Percy continued, “most of the Pureblood children introduce themselves by their last names first. This is to set up where they stand in the wizarding world hierarchy. Those of the Sacred 28 - the Pureblood families with the purest bloodlines - are thought to be higher up by default - even us Weasleys, who, as you know, don’t get along too well with the likes of the Malfoys.”

“Why?” Harry asked. “I mean, why the status?”

“Because those families are the ones known to have been magical from the beginning, thus a lot of honor and respect is given to those names.”

“Names really  _ do _ have a lot of impact,” Clara breathed.

Percy nodded. “It is because of that that Ginny’s in for a massive earful from each of her brothers, and even more so when she gets home by our parents.”

Harry shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

*

After asking Percy if Harry could take Clara to the Gryffindor tower, Percy agreeing nearly instantly, he all but dragged her up the stairs and through the doors. By the time that they reached the proper floor, she was quite surprised to see who was guarding it.

“Oh, who is this little darling?” The painted lady asked.

“This is my sister, Clara,” Harry answered. “This is her first year.”

“And a good student she looks like, too. Password?” She asked.

“Before I say it, can Clara still come in whenever she wants? Given that she knows the password, of course.”

“I don’t see why not. There is no rule at Hogwarts that students from other houses are prevented from visiting other houses’ dormitories.”

Harry grinned. “Excellent.  _ Fortuna Major. _ ”

The portrait swung open, revealing a tunnel with a bright red light at the end. Clara’s jaw dropped.

“Come on, or else the portrait door will close on you.”

Clara scurried behind.

“Now, the password changes every two weeks, except for over the Christmas holidays.  _ Fortuna Major _ will be the password for the next three weeks, and I will be sure to tell you the new password when I learn of it.”

“Slytherin changes their password once a month.”

Harry lifted an eyebrow. “Really? There’s less security that way.”

“But we also don’t have a portrait guarding our dormitory.”

He rolled his eyes. “True. Can’t tell you how many stones I tried before I got the right one.”

Clara grinned. “See?”

“Harry, why is there a Slytherin Chaser in the common room?” a voice asked, startling Clara.

Looking over, Clara saw the Gryffindor Quidditch captain standing over them, his arms crossed.

“She’s on their team, and could easily take our formations and plans over to her captain and ruin everything.” He continued.

“This is my sister, Oliver. She’s got clearance to come in.”

“Oh? Who gave it to her?”

“I did,” Percy crossed his arms as he walked out of the tunnel. “Got an issue with that, Wood?”

Oliver gave Percy a once-over before scanning Clara. He squinted at her. “You’re not going to tell Flint our plans, are you?”

“Of course not.” Clara shook her head. “He wouldn’t understand them even if I tried. Too many blows with a bludger, if you know what I mean.”

Oliver chuckled. “Sounds good. Just a head’s up, I think I heard the Twins cackling about some sort of barfing taffy.”

Percy rolled his eyes with a groan. “I’ll go stop them.”

Harry led Clara over to one of the overstuffed, plush chairs in front of the only fireplace, pushing her into it before he fell in beside her. It was a lot comfier than she anticipated, and it sunk a lot lower, too.

Clara bounced on it a few times, before letting it settle.

“So, was I right in hearing that you are the best first year at potions?” he asked, folding his legs onto the seat.

“I guess,”

“But?”

“But Professor Snape never notices me.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Why?”

Clara shrugged. “I don’t know. He hasn’t ever noticed that I was in his classroom, beyond calling roll. He always looks over me, and always gets my potions last.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. “I wonder why.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

*

After a fun evening of learning to play chess from Rom, and playing exploding-snap with the Weasley Twins, Harry walked Clara back to the Slytherin dorms.

“Will you come down to the Great Hall for breakfast?” He asked as they made their way down the stairs to the Dungeons. “We missed the Christmas breakfast, but it’s not a big deal. Ron probably wants to have a rematch, so he’ll probably lug his chess set down to the Great Hall first thing.”

“I will,” Clara nodded, though she wrung her hands. “Harry,” she started.

“Yes?”

“W-would you mind - oh, nevermind. It’s a silly idea.”

He tilted his head. “What is it?”

“W-would you stay with me tonight? Like we did at the Dursleys?”

Harry nodded. “I will.”

Clara grinned.


	18. Chapter 18

The rest of the break went by quickly, with Harry and Clara spending as much time together as they could before the next semester could start. Ron and Hermione were quick to add Clara in on their discussions, which mostly consisted of Hermione asking Clara about her tests and concerns regarding her assignments, and Oliver was quite impressed by Clara’s Quidditch skills when the students had a Quidditch match on New Year’s Eve. So much so that not only did he inform her about the monthly night games of Quidditch that she absolutely  _ must _ be a part of, but also he offered to take her onto the Gryffindor team, house-loyalties be damned. Clara denied the offer of changing teams, though she did promise to let him know if Flint did not take time to grow her talent, or whatever that meant.

Clara hadn’t spoken to Ginny at all, which Clara didn’t think much of. According to her brothers, Ginny wasn’t really in the talking mood. She hadn’t said a word since Christmas morning and was even more secluded after both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sent howlers the next day. Fred and George assured her that Ginny was not brooding over any possible ‘unfair treatment’, but was in fact reflecting upon her actions and the possible outcomes of her words had Harry not stepped in when he did.

However, during Christmas break, she also lost the Diary. Its whereabouts worried her immensely, and at times she felt like she couldn’t breathe from the panic she felt by its absence. Tom told her to keep it close - that he could be gone forever if she lost it. She hadn’t wanted to run the risk of losing her first (and quite possibly only) friend here, so she always had it safe and secure in her backpack, if not under her pillow as she slept. She knew that no one in her dorm took it with them, so she had simply misplaced it. But where was it? It was while she was searching for it for what had to be the hundredth time that she noticed that she made quite a mess in her dorm in her dormmates’ absence. She looked back to her trunk - the last place she could remember having the Diary - before making the decision to clean up.

She quickly picked up her things, placing them in the wardrobe or drawers, where they belonged. She stopped, however, when her foot made contact with one of the wrapped presents, still at the foot of her bed. When she first saw them on Christmas morning, she thought she had hallucinated them. She had never received a proper present, complete with beautiful wrapping paper and a wonderful bow, so when she saw them at the foot of her bed, she refused to believe that they were real.

She looked at them for much longer than she would have liked to admit, before making the decision to finally open them. Moving them to the floor, Clara sat with her legs crossed. Grabbing the closest one, she carefully unwrapped it, revealing a beautiful diary. It was to her surprise that it was from Ursa Bletchley. Grabbing the note that was set to the side, Clara scanned the words.

_ Dear Clara, _

_ Happy Christmas! I noticed that you are always writing in that old diary of yours, and it seemed that you were filling it up quickly! I got you this one as a replacement for when you run out of room in your other one. It’s made out of dragon skin (shedded, of course), so it will be mostly fireproof, potions-proof, waterproof, and everything-proof. I hope you have a wonderful break, and hopefully, you will start talking to us more! _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Ursa Bletchley _

Clara smiled, gently placing the note and diary on the ground. She would have to remember to thank Ursa when she got back to Hogwarts. She moved to the next one, which turned out to be several large books about the history of the wizarding world, as well as several volumes of the conception and legacy of Quidditch. Looking at the note that accompanied it, Clara discovered that they were from the Avery Twins, with the intent to help her understand the wizarding world a little better.

Gift after gift Clara opened, and each one made her rethink what she thought her value was in the Slytherin House. Each of her dormmates gave her something, and most of the Slytherin Quidditch team, too. She was most definitely surprised to see that she received buckets of candies and goodies from Draco, as well as a cloak that was made from the softest fabric she ever touched. But what caught her attention the most was a rather lumpy package, tied up with string to keep it all together.

Clara untied it, revealing a sweater not so different from the ones the Weasleys wore on Christmas, and a tub of homemade fudge safely nestled in the middle. Carefully unfolding the sweater, she saw that it was a nice emerald color, with a silver ‘C’ in the middle. The girl chuckled, before noticing a snake that was circling the cuff, a lion cub chasing after it. Clara ran her fingers across them, and they stopped their play only to glance up at her. She smiled again, making the note to thank Mrs. Weasley for the gift. In fact, Clara decided to write the letter at that moment, lest she forgot. So she set it aside, got to her desk, and started writing.

*

On the evening the students came back, Clara was surprised to see a group of Fifth-Years huddled in a corner, peering over someone’s shoulder. One of them cursed, though proceeded his work.

Curious, Clara crept closer.

“Why did you get this for Christmas?” one of the boys asked. “And why did you bring it here? You know Muggle technology doesn’t work at Hogwarts.”

“Hogwash.” He replied. “You only say that because no one has ever tried. Muggle watches work just fine here, so why shouldn’t this?” He looked up at the one who asked. “Besides, you do know I’m a Half-Blood, right? And that my father’s a Muggle, and my mother was raised with Muggle influence?”

The student only blinked in response.

“Do you really think it’ll work, Timmy?” One of the girls asked.

“As soon as I actually put it together, it will.”

Clara managed to spy the piece that was getting worked on, her eyebrows furrowed with concentration. “What are you doing?”

The Fifth-Years turned to face her, and she blushed from the attention.

“I’m putting together a phonograph.” the boy in the middle - Timmy - explained. “I got it for Christmas from my dad, along with a Walkman.”

“A Walkman?” Clara echoed. She had only ever seen them in shop windows. Dudley wasn’t ever interested in them - mostly preferring his Boom Box where he could annoy as many people as he could.

“I still don’t think it’ll work.” The first boy crossed his arms.

“That’s the Pureblood talking, Jasper.” Timmy countered. “You didn’t even know this existed until five minutes ago.”

Jasper shrugged.

When Timmy finally had all the pieces put together, he selected a record, placed it on the turntable, turned it on (it seemed to take a little while, as he had to crank the handle several turns before it made any sort of indication of working), and placed the needle on the spinning record.

Everyone around him held their breath, waiting for it to start.

Soon, there was music.

All the other students turned their heads towards the sound, and Anthony walked closer towards it.

“You actually got the phonograph to work?” Anthony asked, clearly impressed. “How?”

“Rather simple, really. My dad got it for me at the thrift shop, and Mother put a charm on it that would make it last for as long as I wanted it to, rather than have to crank it every now and again.”

“Aha!” Jasper cried. “So it is magic!”

Timmy rolled his eyes. “Only the running life, nitwit. Everything else is Muggle.”

“What else did you bring with you?” Anthony continued. “I hope it’s not just The Beatles.”

“No, I also have The Monkees, Rolling Stones, Twisted Sister, and Journey.”

Anthony’s eyebrows rose. “And I assume you brought them with you?”

“Absolutely. This place has been too quiet since Caleb graduated.”

One of the sixth years groaned. “I am so glad he’s gone.”

“Just because you can’t take a joke doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t.”

“Oh? Try being on the receiving end of that sticking potion. Professor Snape spent  forever reversing the effects, and I was hanging on the ceiling the whole time.”

The common room erupted in laughter as Clara lost interest in the conversation. She noticed the time - her eyes growing wide when it read nine-forty - and quickly made her way to the dorms. She had a lot of classes the next day, and she wanted to be alert in the morning.

*

Clara quickly made her way to the Great Hall - as she did for the entirety of the Christmas Break - only to come to a halt outside the door. She didn’t think she could sit with Harry like she did every other day, as classes had now started, but she also didn’t want to sit by herself at the Slytherin table. As she debated with herself, she heard Ron speaking behind her.

“-why would he do such a thing?”

“I don’t know. That’s why we should ask.” Harry looked up, “Oh, good morning, Clara! Were you waiting for me?”

Clara shook her head. “Not exactly, no.”

“Then what were you doing?”

“I -” she took in a deep breath. “I don’t know where to sit.”

Ron lifted an eyebrow. “What do you mean? You can sit with us, of course.”

“But what will everyone say? No one sits at other people’s tables here. What if someone says something?”

“Then they’ll say something.” Harry shrugged. “It’s unlikely they’ll actually do something, especially since everyone thinks I’m the one behind the attacks. They’ll be too scared to.”

Clara nodded. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

Harry grinned, offering out his hand to her. “Ready?”

She took it. “Ready.”

They pushed the door open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is in sight! I imagine that there will be no more than three more chapters to this story, but do not be surprised if it's more! I shall let you know further when I find out for sure!


	19. Chapter 19

The Great Hall was quiet. Somehow the entire school body managed to get breakfast at the same time, and it was quiet in the hall. Probably because everyone was too busy staring at Harry and Clara - some staring that their clasped hands, almost like it was a hallucination - that they didn’t dare make any noises.

Harry tugged Clara over to the Gryffindor table, sitting her next to Fred and George. When she sat down, everyone went back to their food.

“That was quite an entrance,” Fred commented.

“As to be expected from the school’s most popular siblings.” George agreed.

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked.

“You’re the Boy-Who-Lived,” Fred explained.

“And she’s your little sister, among other things.” George continued. “You two are popular, wither you like it or not. And your relationship took a massive turn over the break -”

“-Something most of the students weren’t lucky enough to witness -” Fred chimed.

“-So they’re going to be surprised.”

“Well,” Harry sighed. “They’ll just have to get over it.”

*

They didn’t get over it. Maybe it was the fact that the next Quidditch game was Slytherin versus Hufflepuff, but it seemed like Clara was under the scrutiny of the entire student body - save her dormmates, who, after talking to them late into the night when they got back from the break, would divert as much attention away from Clara as they could. Scarlett even went as far as to set off fireworks in the library after Clara was cornered by some upperclassmen. She claims that her months-worth of detention was worth it, but Clara really didn’t know.

After the incident of the Library, though, Clara took to hiding in the Restricted Section. She gained access to it nearing the end of the autumn semester, after speaking to Professor Lockhart about the possibilities of further research of the monsters he (supposedly) faced quite often. It was there in the Restricted Section that Clara discovered a little study corner, hidden from view. It was there that Clara hid when she had to spend time in the library, and it was the only place where she seemed to get any true peace and quiet.

Pansy and Daphne never again cornered her as they did before Christmas, which Clara was infinitely glad for. She knew that they had new ammunition for their jabs, but they seemed too scared to do anything to her. She had no idea what sort of punishment they had, or even if they received any kind of punishment at all from Professor Snape, but Draco always remained close to her while they were in the common room. The one time they even attempted something, Draco was quick to scare them off.

Unfortunately, along with her added attention, Flint seemed to be even harder on her than he was in any of the past practices.

“Come on, Potter! If you don’t fly faster than that, you can kiss your spot on the team good-bye!”

That was the latest threat Flint used on her, and she was just about done with it, and she teased the idea of what would happen if she truly did quit on the spot. Shaking the fantasy from her head, Clara focused back on the task before her. Tightening her hold on the Quaffle, she urged her broom to go faster as she hurled the Quaffle through the hoops - Miles Bletchley just seconds away from blocking her.

“Not fast enough,” Flint said, causing the others to groan. “Again. The Hufflepuff team is strong this year - they have a new Chaser. With Diggory as their Seeker, they are already a challenge enough. But with the addition of St. Cloud, they are almost sure to win - especially if we rely on the firstie to do all the work.” He gave Montegue a hard look, who had the decency to look away. “Do it again.”

Clara resisted the urge to roll her eyes. By the time that practice was over, Clara was sore all over and was anxious to finally take a nap. She stumbled into her dressing room, where she was surprised to see the serpent waiting.

“Did you have a good practice?”

Clara nodded, moving towards the bench to sit down. “It was good, but it was a pain.”

The serpent slithered over to her, laying its head on her lap. She felt a warmth spread across her, soothing her aching muscles.“Why is that?”

“Flint’s convinced Hufflepuff’s going to win since they have a new Chaser who shows promise. They won the match against Ravenclaw, so it’s not completely out of the realm of possibilities.“

The serpent laughed. “It will take more than promise to beat you, Clara,”

“I certainly hope so,” Clara sighed. “But the game’s not over until the Snitch is caught. If we’re lucky, Draco will catch it soon and we can be over and done with it.” She then looked at the serpent, her lips pursing.

“What is it?”

“I just realized I never asked for your name.”

“That’s because I have none. But you can name me if you like.”

“Oh? Then what about, oh, Nathair? Uisage? How about Nathair Uisage, with the nickname Nat?”

The serpent laughed. “If that is what you wish to call me, then I will wear the name proudly.”

“Okay, then. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nat.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Clara.”

*

All too soon, it was time for the match, on a day that promised of heavy snowfall. It was only a dusting of snow when she woke up that morning, but already the snow speed was picking up, causing her to hope that the Snitch will be found quickly, and they don’t have to be out in the cold for too long.

Clara nervously chewed on her fingernails, her foot bouncing with anticipation. She had no idea why, but she hadn’t felt this nervous when she went against Gryffindor on her first match. Maybe it was because she watched the Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw game, and the Hufflepuff Chasers were really good. She only hoped that Draco would be faster than the Hufflepuff Chaser, Diggory. Draco was smaller than the other Seeker, so physics was on their side when it came to speed, but Diggory was known for being rather aggressive on the pitch, even if he was really sweet in the school halls.

She sighed. She wished the game was over with, and she could just crash onto her bed and not have to think about anything.

“You seem a lot more nervous this time around than our last game,” Castor said, taking the spot next to her. “What’s going around in your head?”

“I don’t know, really,” She answered. “I’m just nervous about St. Cloud.”

Castor rolled his eyes. “Don’t be. You run Flint and Montegue into the ground on a daily basis. You’ll be just fine.”

“If you say so,”

As Castor opened his mouth to respond, the door swung open, Flint walking through. The players took their spots, Aries sitting on the other side of Clara, nudging her with his elbow in greeting.

“Alright guys, I’ll make it quick,” Flint said, a determined look about him. “Do what we practiced, and we should be okay. Don’t be afraid to get rough and cheat, but be smart about it.”

Castor and Aries rolled their eyes, though not quick enough before Flint noticed.

“Do you have something to say, Beaters?” Flint crossed his arms.

“If you were actually competent - being our Captain or being a Chaser - we wouldn’t have to cheat,” Aries called.

Flint gained a murderous look in his eyes. “Oh?”

Aries nodded, before standing up. “You know the reputation Slytherin had before Williams took over, and it’s only gotten worse since you took the reins. We were good - really good. And we had more honor than to stoop to such a scum level as to cheat to win a game.”

“Then why don’t you bring it up to Snape?” He challenged.

“Oh, I will. Come next year, I’ll make sure Slytherin doesn’t have an embarrassment like you leading our team. Even with her limited knowledge, Clara would make a much better Captain than you on honor alone.”

“Why you-”

“Flint, now’s not the time,” Castor said, inserting himself between the two teenagers. “Aries, go sit down.”

Aries obeyed with a huff.

Castor gave the others a look, before taking in a deep breath. “I know we’ve been under a lot of stress because of this match, but we can’t let it tear this team apart. The only way we can beat them is if we work together. Not-” -he gave Flint and Aries a harsh look - “- going at each other’s throats like mindless dogs fighting over a bone.”

The two looked down, though their body language told Clara that they didn’t regret what they said.

Castor took in a deep breath. “Now that that’s over, let’s get going. I’m sure that Hooch will be out there waiting for us.”

They quietly took their brooms and made their way out onto the pitch. Again, they were met with disapproval, expect from their own house. Clara didn’t quite know what she thought of it, especially when she remembered both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw being met with cheers at their match. She shook her head. Maybe this was one of the student body’s punishments against those who were sorted into the ‘evil’ house. She simply hoped that she could somehow change the student’s view of the house by the time she graduated from Hogwarts.

At the center of the pitch, she gulped when her eyes laid on St. Cloud. He was a tall, lanky boy, though he couldn’t have been much older than thirteen. Clara shivered when she thought about what he might grow into, especially if he continued on with Quidditch.

Madame Hooch took the Quaffle, and the players mounted their broom. At the sound of her whistle, they rose. When she tossed the Quaffle into the air, the game began.

“Chaser Steven St. Cloud takes the Quaffle and makes a pass to Chaser Brian Smith, only for Chaser Clara Potter to steal! She hurdles down the pitch - narrowly missing a Bludger aimed for her head - passes to Chaser Graham Montegue, who scores! Ten points to Slytherin!”

The Slytherin stands went wild, and Aries flew next to Clara.

“Is that your brother I see, holding up a Slytherin banner?” he asked, and wide grin breaking out.

Clara glanced towards the Gryffindor stands, her eyes growing wide when she saw Harry holding a large Slytherin banner, cheering her on. When Harry noticed her looking at him, he waved, before getting the attention of Ron and the Weasley Twins, who cheered when they saw her, waving their own Slytherin flags.

“Completely made up with them, then?” He asked, beating a Bludger towards one of the Hufflepuff Chasers.

Clara nodded. “Yeah,” She dove towards Smith, who was tossing the ball towards Austin O’Matherly, grabbing the Quaffle and passing it to Flint. As Flint tossed it towards the rings, their Keeper Herbert Fleet caught it, passing it to St. Cloud, who then managed to score.

As the game progressed, it was clear that the game was evenly matched. Slytherin was currently up by thirty points, and Clara was dripping with sweat, despite the snow falling. She scored another point for Slytherin, though she paused when she felt a shift in the atmosphere. Giving a glance upwards towards the Seekers - who were racing after the Snitch, Draco in the lead - she noticed that Diggory was losing his grip on his broom. Her eyes widened as she saw his broom struggle with the steep climb.

“Trouble looks afoot as the Seekers chase the Snitch! The growing snowfall seems to be hindering their performance, and it appears that their gloves are not assisting them in these cold conditions. Malfoy takes a dive - Diggory following only a hair behind.”

Clara swallowed, focusing her attention on her task. She came up close to St. Cloud, knocking the Quaffle away from him.

“Diggory lost his grip on the broom!” the announcer boomed, causing everyone to look towards them. Diggory was plummeting towards the ground at a terrifying rate, and it seemed that everyone was frozen in time. Clara managed to break away from the shock that encompassed her and urged her broom to fly towards him - fly harder than she ever thought she could make it go. When she was close enough, she reached out towards him, grabbing his outstretched hand, a binding charm to keep them connected flying from her lips. She heaved Diggory onto her broom behind her, gasping for breath as she made her way down to the ground where Madame Pomfrey was waiting.

“Thank you,” Diggory gasped as Madame Pomfrey helped him off the broom and undoing the binding charm. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s alright,” Clara replied. “I’m sure you would have done the same for me if our positions were switched.”

Diggory laughed. “I like to think I would have,” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Cedric, by the way.”

She took it, grinning widely. “Clara.”

The stands cheered wildly, causing the two to look up. Clara spotted Draco holding the Snitch up high, with the others swarming around him.

“Looks like you won the game,” Cedric sighed. “Not surprised, since I saw him grab it before I lost my grip.”

“So we did,” Clara smiled at Cedric. “But you still did a really good job. I’ll bet that if it weren’t so snowy, you’d have gotten the Snitch.”

Cedric laughed. “That I might have. But, the weather is part of the fun!”

Clara grinned at his antics, though spared a glance back to the Pitch as she helped him towards the Hospital Wing. She immediately wished she hadn’t, as Flint was glowering at her with a venom she wasn’t used to - not even Aunt Petunia looked at her with such disgust. She knew that she would be in for an earful from him later, and made the decision to spend as much time as she could with Cedric before heading back to the dorms.

“Are you alright, Clara?” Cedric asked in a low voice.

“I will be.” She croaked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, not going to be three chapters. It’ll be more. This time, I’m not even going to guess because I might say ‘only five more!’ and it’ll turn out to be fifteen. Sigh.


	20. Chapter 20

It was a little after sun-down that Clara was finally able to get to her bed. The other Hufflepuff players gave Clara gifts of thanks for saving their Seeker, while Cedric simply wanted some company while spending the night in the infirmary. Evidently he had smashed his hand, breaking nearly all of the bones in the hand and one of his arm bones (the radius, she thought it was), when he collided with Draco in an effort to get the Snitch. While this would normally be healed with a simple spell, Madame Pomfrey wanted to take a slower, more precise method of healing, considering that it was his wanding arm that received the damage.

Clara collapsed on her bed, content to fall right to sleep even if she was still wearing her Quidditch robes. However, an insistent poking on her back prevented her from doing so. Moving her hand to smooth out the edge, she froze, and her eyes flew open.

It felt like a book.

Quickly shooting up, she yanked the bedding off the bed. When her eyes laid on the Diary, she squealed with delight. It was here! She found it! Grabbing it off the bed, she clutched it close to her chest. But, how did it get there? It wasn’t there that morning.

Clara shook her head. It wasn’t important that she knew. All that mattered was that it was with her - where it _belonged._ She quickly looked around, noticing that her roommate seemed to be fast asleep. She knew that curfew was soon, and if she went elsewhere she would have to spend the night. But, considering that there were no classes the next day, she wouldn’t be too missed. Making the decision, she grabbed one of her cloaks and put it on, rushing out the door. She needed to keep the Diary safe, and there was only one place that she knew without a doubt it would be the safest.

Salazar’s Chamber of Secrets.

*

Clara stayed close to the walls, where she could easily slink beside one of the engravings or behind a tapestry. She was lucky that there was no one on her route to the second-floor bathroom, but it didn’t hurt to still remain as quiet as she could - even going as far as to take off her shoes before she left the tunnel to the hall so that she could reduce the amount of noise her footsteps would make.

By the time that she managed to get to the bathroom, Clara was sure that her heart was in her throat. She stuck her head through the entryway, scanning to see of Myrtle was there. When the coast was clear, Clara walked through.

“Open,” she hissed.

The sinks spread out, allowing her to walk to the entrance.

“Stairs,” she hissed again, watching eagerly as the stairs poked out from the sides. Stepping on them, she quickly made her way down the tunnel, keeping a _lumos_ charm on her wand out so that she could see once the sinks went back in place.

When she finally arrived at the Chamber, Clara immediately sought out a place where she could keep it hidden. It couldn’t be just laying anywhere because something might come and take it. She also couldn’t hide it in one of the statues, just in case the book fell into the water and was absolutely ruined. While she was searching, she came across an alcove of some sort, and she couldn’t keep herself from exploring it.

Stepping in, Clara was amazed to find a room that was positively _swamped_ with books! The bookshelves were crammed with books, tomes, and scrolls (neatly, though), while there were books stacked haphazardly against the wall. There was an old desk to her left, where there was a window nearby that looked out into the Black Lake. She spotted merfolk in the distance, as well as spotted some sort of plant that reminded her of one of those plants that were said to allow people to breathe underwater.

Walking closer, she noticed that the desk was neatly organized, and wasn’t very dusty - or, wasn’t as dusty as she would have assumed it would be if it was a thousand years old. Curious, Clara opened one of the drawers, only to find several quills and inkpots. She picked up one of the inkpots, and stuck her finger into it, testing to see if the ink was dried out or not. She was surprised to see that it wasn’t, and the quills accompanying it seemed to be in good shape.

Putting the inkpot back into the drawer, Clara turned to the desk and analyzed it with a critical eye. It was in a safe chamber and was also in a hiding spot within the chamber. She could simply leave it on the desk, and there was no possible way of it being taken or mistreated. Making her decision, Clara took the sleeve of her robe and swept it across the surface of the desk, taking much of the dust with it. She used her hand to clean off the rest of it, before settling the Diary on top of it.

While it sat there, Clara felt a need to talk to Tom again. He had been missing for two - almost three - months, and surely he was worried about her. She hadn’t gone much more than a day without speaking to him in one form or another, and she hated the idea of him being disappointed in her. With that, Clara sat down in the creaky, old chair, took out an inkpot and quill, and opened the Diary. There was a rush of power sweeping over her, causing her to shiver. She dipped the quill into the inkpot and wrote a single sentence.

_Are you well, Tom?_ Clara waited with bated breath, hoping that Tom would answer quickly.

_I am, Little Clara._

_I’m glad. Where were you? I couldn’t find you, no matter how hard I looked._

_I was with another student. It’s nothing to worry about, I was simply helping them understand something that happened here at Hogwarts._

_Oh? What was it?_

_It was about the last time the Chamber was opened._

Clara pursed her lips. _What about it?_

_It’s nothing you need to worry about, young one. Just know that it is taken care of, and will likely not happen again._

_I understand._

*

It was several hours later that Clara said good-bye to Tom. She closed the book carefully, running her fingers down the spine slowly - almost stroking it in a fashion she saw some older Ravenclaw students do to some of their books. Clara stretched, climbing out of the chair, though she stumbled into one of the bookshelves - pushing one of the books farther into the shelf - not long after. There was a series of rumbling that quickly followed after, and Clara clenched her eyes shut as she felt her stomach drop to her knees. How was she going to explain how one of the towers of the castle collapsed? What if she caused the chamber to collapse on her? Or worse, what if she made the entire _castle_ collapse in her folly?

When nothing else happened, Clara risked a chance of peeking out. When nothing looked immediately out of place, she opened her eyes fully, only to gape with shock when she saw what was right in front of her. There was another tunnel that led further down - possibly down under the lake! She moved her foot forward, though stopped. What if she came across something dangerous down there? She quickly patted herself, trying to find her wand. When it was located, she held it in front of her in the proper dueling stance, just as Professor Flitwick instructed. She knew some basic defensive and dueling spells once she took it upon herself to self-study, so she figured that she should be okay if there was something fishy down there.

Huh, fishy.

Clara chuckled.

She took a step in and took in a deep breath. It was now or never since she didn’t even know what book it was that she pressed. As she walked, she was pleased to see that the bookshelf did not slide back into place, and instead stayed where it was. At least that way she could easily go back out if she so desired.

When she reached the end of the tunnel, she was surprised to see there was another room. However, this was larger and held several long tables that could work as brewing stations. Clara furrowed her eyebrows. But wouldn’t there need to be a place where there was easy ventilation? She walked farther into the room and stopped when she heard someone clearing their throat. Slowly turning on her heel towards the voice, her eyes widened when she saw who it was.

“It certainly is a surprise to see someone down here,” the voice said.

Clara nodded her head dumbly. “I-” her voice cracked. “I imagine so, sir,”

In front of her was a portrait of a man dressed in dark green robes, very similar in color to her own Quidditch robes. He looked young, having deep black hair that were quite unlike Professor Snape’s greasy texture. I looked soft, and fell in soft waves.

Clara shook her head. Why was she so fascinated with this portrait’s _hair_? Clara quickly continued her observation, and noticed that he had a kind face, though he was one of those people that you knew better than to disobey. Glancing at the nameplate at the bottom of the portrait frame was the name “Sir Salazar Slytherin”. Clara nearly fainted.

“Are you alright, child?”

Clara nodded. “I will be,”

“Please, sit down. I don’t want you passing out and I cannot get you the proper help you would require.”

Clara nodded again, collapsing heavily on the ground.

Salazar chuckled. “That is not what I intended, but it shall suffice.” He took in a deep breath. “So tell me, how did you discover my chamber? Are you Parsltemouth?”

“I am, I think.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“W-well, I don’t even know for sure what a Parstlemoth _is_. I know that I can talk to snakes, but every time I try to find a reference to it in the library, it always leads me to dangerous rituals performed by hags, and stories of sorcerers who use children for their potions-”

At this Salazar’s eyes grew impossibly wide.

“-And I don’t want to be like that, but everyone calls my brother Harry a Parstlemouth, and I know he doesn’t want to become that, either!”

“Now, no need to panic, Child,” Salazar said quickly, noticing the quickening of her breathing. “Being a Parstlemouth isn’t like that at all. Neither is performing Parstlemagic.”

“Parstlemagic?”

“A special form of magic using Parstletongue.”

“Oh.”

“Either way,” he cleared his throat, “those who perform such atrocious acts are the scum of the Magical world, and should be treated as such.” He gave her a look. “But I am most curious, how did you come across that information?”

“It was in the Restricted section,” She trailed off, fiddling with her fingers.

“As it should be, if it were to ever be in the School’s premises,” he nodded. “However?”

“However, I got permission to go into the Restricted Section by my Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.”

Salazar’s eyes grew wide again. “How?”

“Well, I sweet-talked him, or so the upper-years say. He’s a disgrace of a teacher, he only cares about himself and what he claims he did to appear better in the public eye. So, I took it upon myself to self-study early on in the school year, and on one of my curiosity quests, I decided to learn about Parstlemouths.

“Since there wasn’t much in the normal library, I figured there must be some information in the Restricted Section. So I approached him and he gave me a pass into the Restricted Section after I claimed that I wanted to learn more about Banshees so I could fight them off as bravely as he did.”

Salazar gave her a cutting look before he heaved a great sigh, closing his eyes. “If you were a student while I was alive, dear Child, you would receive a punishment you would not likely ever forget.” He looked up. “But, you are not. This does not mean that I am not greatly disappointed with someone in my house using her skills for unjust reasons.”

“Unjust reasons?”

“Using extraordinary cunning on an unworthy subject to achieve selfish gains.” His voice took a harsh turn.

Clara looked down, ashamed.

After a moment of silence, Salazar gave another sigh. “That is a topic for another day. Tell me, Child, what is your name?”

“It’s Clara, sir. Clara Aster Potter.”

Salazar gave her a small, though no less sincere, smile. “A name that promises excellence. I am pleased that you are in my House, child. May Slytherin guide you to your destiny,”

Clara grinned in response.

By the time that the sun rose again, Clara inched her way out of the Chamber. She had to be extra quiet about it since Myrtle might be in the bathroom and hear her. Clara didn’t want to get taken to the Headmaster’s Office and have her hide-out ruined. Luckily, Myrtle wasn’t there when she arrived at the surface. Clara sighed with relief and quickly made her way down to the Dungeons for a shower and a change of clothes. She didn’t want anyone to wonder why she was still in her Quidditch robes.

*

The weeks went by slowly after that. There had been one petrification since November - a Prefect named Penelope Clearwater, Percy’s girlfriend. She was Petrified in early April, and Clara couldn’t bring herself to feel bad about it. The reason being, Penelope had turned quite sour on her brother over the Holidays - to the extent where she would shriek about his cruelty and overall evilness whenever she caught him looking at her.

Percy scolded her heavily about it each time, and even took to deducting points from her house and assigned her detention because of it, even though she herself was a Prefect. Clara couldn’t help herself but feel some sort of amazement from Percy’s loyalty to her and her brother, even if he barely knew them.

After that incident, Harry turned quite cold - quite _detached_. He hardly laughed, always seemed skittish around his peers, and preferred to keep to Clara as much as he could. Clara’s heart ached that he would even consider resorting back to his behavior when he at the Dursleys, and she wondered how best she could right the situation.

During the Gryffindor/Ravenclaw game, Harry didn’t even catch the Snitch (effectively ending Gryffindor’s hope of competing for the Quidditch Cup), which was something the Weasleys knew to be exceedingly off about her brother. What worried her most, however, was that he didn’t even seem to care.

So, safe to say, Clara was glad that the basilisk was doing what Tom told her she would do. Possibly this time the students will know better than to pick on her brother, lest they face the same consequences.

But, there was one thing that happened after her petrification that no one anticipated.

“Attention, students,” Professor Snape called one evening, demanding the attention of everyone in the Slytherin common room.

Once he had it, he continued. “Because of the recent petrification of Miss Penelope Clearwater, there has been an introduction of new rules.” He snapped out a roll of parchment, glaring at it. “All students are to return to their House Dormitories every evening, and all students will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher, no exceptions.” He closed the roll quickly, giving each of them a hard look. “As of now, Quidditch has not been canceled. However, each Head of House will be present to their House’s Quidditch practice.”

Castor raised his hand, and Snape quickly called on him. “But sir, isn’t the only match left the Slytherin and Ravenclaw match? It’s the Quidditch Cup,”

“That is correct, though it has been decided that there would be mock games to keep the morale high. While the only game that holds any point value will be the final match, there will be weekly games to encourage a more … optimistic view.” Professor Snape nearly spat out the last words, and Clara shivered from the frostiness of his tone.

Castor and Aries nodded in understanding, crouching next to each other and whispering in hushed voices.

“I will only say this,” Snape continued. “If such attacks continue, we may very well see the end of Hogwarts.”

Clara’s eyebrows furrowed. The end of Hogwarts? Why? The basilisk was simply keeping others from doing further harm to Harry. Why would the school have to close because of it? Really, it wasn’t like the students would die from the Petrification - the Mandrake Roots were nearly mature, and soon would be made into the antidote. Clara shook her head. Surely they were over-reacting.


	21. Chapter 21

Leaving the Diary in the Chamber was difficult. Now that she knew where it was, it seemed to be near impossible to leave it alone - she  _ needed  _ it with her. She decided to wait a few days - going to the Chamber either early in the morning or late at night each day to greet Tom and Salazar - and if the feeling still remained, she would fetch it from the study room. It was after a disastrous day that she finally decided to take the Diary with her when she left for the night. She placed the Diary under her pillow (where she would know if someone moved it) and promptly fell asleep. When she woke up that morning, she felt better than she had any morning of that week. That was when she decided that she would keep it with her. She saw no point in keeping it completely safe if she was going to feel drained and panicked. Instead, she kept it in her school bag and kept the bag close to her at all times.

*

Instead of the usual June match, the Board of Governors had encouraged it being held in early May, for whatever reason Clara didn’t quite understand.

What she did understand, however, was that Flint was under a lot of pressure. And when he was under pressure, times weren’t fun for the Slytherin Quidditch team.

The Slytherin Quidditch team ran themselves ragged - tired and worn out to the point where they all far too tired to sleep, which made them all even more miserable. The Ravenclaw Quidditch Team seemed much worse for wear than they normally appeared, looking like they were dead on their feet. To make matters worse, there was a bug of some sort (Wizard’s Flu, someone said) going around, and Draco was the latest unlucky victim of it. He was out for the game, and they had to bring in a reserve Seeker - Grant McCauley - who’s nowhere near as good as Draco had been. Clara only hoped he had some stroke of luck and managed to catch the Snitch.

All too soon, it was the morning of the Quidditch Cup.

“Good morning,”

Clara looked up from the oatmeal she was stabbing, only to see one of her Ravenclaw year-mates smiling at her. She was rather odd-looking, what with her turnip earrings, cork necklace, and hair clumsily gathered on top of her head and being held together with her wand. However, she had a very warm and welcoming smile.

“Good morning,” Clara replied.

“We haven’t been properly introduced yet. My name is Luna Lovegood. Are you excited about the game today, Clara?”

Clara shrugged, going back to stabbing the oatmeal. “I don’t know.”

“You should eat. You can’t focus without a good meal. That’s what my mother always told me.”

Clara watched as Luna piled a plate up high with eggs, sausages, toast, and a dollop of yogurt. Luna gave Clara a look, before taking the plate in front of her and putting her own tall plate where it was.

“There,” Luna smiled. “Eat at least a third of it, and you can be ready for the game.”

“But, aren’t you hungry?”

“Oh, I am. But I’m not playing to win a record-breaking match today.”

“Record-breaking?” Clara echoed.

Luna nodded. “Record-breaking. You are a very talented Chaser, Clara. Even more so than your father, I bet. My father spoke highly of Mister James Potter’s Quidditch talent when he learned you joined the Slytherin team, even though he has no interest in the sport. You and Harry inherited Mister James’ talent.”

Clara just stared. She knew that her father played Quidditch when he attended Hogwarts, but to be playing a record-breaking match? It seemed too wild to be true.

“Don’t think too much about it,” Luna continued, “or it might not come true. Events like these are finicky things, and it takes work in order for them to happen.”

Clara pursed her lips. “Alright,” she thought for a moment. “I’ll try not to overthink it.”

“That’s the spirit! Now eat up, or else you’ll fall off your broom!”

*

All too soon, Clara was up in the air, chasing the Quaffle. It was a little while into the game that she was beginning to feel her breakfast make a reappearance, and she greatly regretted eating a third of the plate that Luna made her eat. She hadn’t had breakfast on the morning of any of her other Quidditch matches, so what did it matter if she had any that morning? Clara shook her head, ridding herself of the thought. She had a game to focus on, and she was not going to be the reason that they lost this game.

“Potter wrestles the Quaffle out of the grip of Davies, and flees down the pitch! Will she make it past the Keeper? She aims, she scores! Ten points to Slytherin!” The announcer cheered, quickly making note of the scoreboard. “That makes it 130 to 100, Ravenclaw in the lead!”

“Faster, Potter! Don’t let them get it!” Aries screeched, whacking a Bludger into Jeremy Stretton’s broom, causing him to swerve to avoid it.

Clara urged her broom to go faster, billowing towards Randolf Jackson.

The Announcer must have noticed it, because he quickly says, “In an attempt to move the Quaffle, Jackson passes it to Davies, only for Potter to grab it! She passes to Montegue, who then passes it to her captain, Flint! Flint takes the shot - score! 130 to 110, Slytherin quickly catching up!”

And on it went. Slytherin took the lead not long after, and it went back and forth between who scored and who didn’t. By the time the Snitch was sighted, the score was at 450 to 300, Slytherin firmly in the lead. This spurred Ravenclaw’s Seeker Fredricks’ frantic search for the Snitch a little while back, as he could win the game and end it - since it was well-passed lunchtime several points ago and they were all getting rather hungry.

If Fredricks managed to catch the Snitch, then it would be tied. If Grant was able to catch the Snitch, then they won the game. Either way, Clara wasn’t about to risk it. She heaved her broom upward, doing a mimic of one of the Seeker moves she saw Draco practicing. She let herself hover, before pushing her magic into the broom, flying at an incredible speed.

“I don’t believe it! Potter is doing what appears to be a Chaser variant of the Wronski Feint!” the Announcer called, before shifting his attention back to the Seekers. “But Seekers Fredricks and McCauley chase after the Snitch. Will Fredricks be able to catch the Snitch in his final game before he graduates?”

Clara sped towards Stretton, who quickly noticed she was coming upon them. He passed the Quaffle to Jackson but he dropped it as soon as his fingers touched it. Clara swooped down, grabbing the Quaffle and securing it to her side as she hurdled her way around the goalposts and darted towards the other side of the pitch.

“Fredricks picks up speed! He reaches his hands, not too far off from the Snitch!”

Just a moment more, and Clara will have made it to the Posts!

“Fredricks almost has it!”

Clara prepared to throw. Once she was close enough, she hurdled the Quaffle as hard as she could - a sharp pain exploding in her shoulder from the force.

“Fredricks catches the Snitch! 150 points to Ravenclaw!”

The stands cheered.

“But wait! Chaser Potter threw the Quaffle into the posts just as Fredricks caught the Snitch! Will her throw count, or will we need a tie-breaker? Our judges will analyze the results, so stay tuned!”

The Pitch froze in anticipation.

Clara didn’t dare breathe, both from the pain exploding in her shoulder, and from fear of her throw not counting. If it didn’t, she would have injured herself for no reason, and would likely be on the side of Flint’s wrath. If it did, then she helped Slytherin win the game. It seemed like forever until the judges made their decision.

“Quidditch players and spectators alike-“ The announcer cleared his throat. “-the judges have made their decision.”

Clara felt her chest tighten.

“The game has been declared finished. Slytherin has won the Quidditch Cup!”

They won.

Clara sat there on her broom, her mouth agape. As the people in the stands went wild, she could do nothing more than sit, trying to wrap her mind around it all. Even with Ravenclaw’s Seeker catching the Snitch, Slytherin won. Clara eased her broom down to the ground as she panted. She couldn’t believe they actually won. She didn’t think that there has ever been a team that won at Hogwarts while the other got the snitch.

“Way to go, Clara!” Castor screeched, rushing towards her and tackling her, not hearing her whimper from the pain in her shoulder. “I can’t believe we’ve won! 460 to 450!”

“You’re getting all the butterbeer you want, Clara,” Miles said, clasping a hand over the back of her shoulder - again the one that was injured. “My treat.”

“This means that we’re getting the Quidditch Cup, right?” she asked.

“Yes! And here it comes!”

Clara looked up to see Professor Dumbledore carrying an enormous silver trophy and presenting it to Flint, who took it with a wide grin. When he lifted it up in the air, the entire Slytherin house erupted in applause and cheers, rattling Clara’s ears for a moment.

Flint waded his way through the crowd of people, and when he was in front of Clara, he gave her the trophy.

“Here,” He handed it to her. “You played well.”

Clara broke into a wide grin, taking it. She cradled it in her hands, careful not to drop it.

“Up we go!” Castor and Aries yelled, heaving her up onto their shoulders.

Clara let out a yelp of surprise, only to laugh as the boys jumped up and down. Harry quickly came soon after, launching himself at her, joining in on their glee.

Their celebrations stopped, however, when Professor McGonagall briskly walked up to them. “You may want to come with me, Mr. Potter. Find Mr. Weasley, and meet me at the Hospital Wing.”

“What happened?”

“I’ll tell you at the Hospital wing, Mr. Potter, do not worry. Fetch Mr. Weasley as quickly as you can.”

“Can Clara come with me, Professor?” He asked, taking Clara’s hand firmly in his own.

Professor McGonagall nodded. “I will let Professor Snape know of her whereabouts.” With that, she turned sharply, walking away briskly.

Harry turned to her. “Let’s go find Ron.”

“May I get my bag from my locker room, first?”

Harry nodded. “Yes. Meet me at the foot of the Posts, and we’ll go together.”

Clara turned on her heels, quickly making her way to the locker room. Once in, she put her broom where it belonged in the locker, and grabbed her school bag.

*

By the time they made it to the hospital wing, Professor McGonagall seemed to be even more nervous than she was before.

“Before I let you in, I must tell you this could be a shock.”

“What happened?” Ron asked.

“Hermione Granger was found in the library corridor.”

“Found?” Harry echoed.

Professor McGonagall nodded. “She is Petrified.”

Harry and Ron’s faces became white, while Clara’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration. While Professor McGonagall led them to Hermione’s side, Clara tried to think of a reason as to why Hermione was Petrified. Had she done something to upset Harry? Was she conspiring against him? Tom told her that the basilisk would only attack those who had or would harm Harry, but why, then did she go after one of his best friends?

All thoughts of this stopped, however, when she saw Harry leaning over Hermione. He was  _ crying _ . Clara couldn’t remember the last time she saw him cry over someone else other than her, and that had been ages ago. When she glanced over to Ron and saw his terror, her decision was finalized. She would do something about this basilisk, and the first thing she’d do is get rid of the Diary.

She spared a glance at Professor McGonagall and noticed that she was talking to Madame Pomfrey in hushed voices. When Clara looked back to Harry and Ron, they were busy fussing over Hermione. Clara took advantage of their distractedness and inched out of the Hospital Wing. 

Clara took out the Diary as she walked, trying to think of a way to destroy it. She remembered seeing some daggers and other cutting tools in the room that Salazar was in. And if worse came to worse, Salazar would know of a way to get rid of it. Once that was done, all she had to do was convince the basilisk to go back to sleep, and it would stop. Nodding with determination, Clara quickened her pace. She knew that she should have done so earlier, but she still had that doubt that what Tom said about the basilisk protecting both Harry and herself was correct. What if Hermione, Colin, Penelope, and Justin had ulterior motives?

She shook her head, getting the thought out. Considering how distraught Harry was when he learned that Hermione had been petrified, there was no doubt in Clara’s mind that Tom had been wrong. No one but those who had the best interest at heart could achieve Harry’s loyalty like that. No, this had to be done. Once it was over, it wouldn’t happen again.

“What are you doing?” a voice asked, startling her.

Turning, Clara saw three of the Ravenclaw quidditch team members - Jackson, Smith, and Rowland. “I’m doing nothing,” she said. “Good game today, wasn’t it?”

Rowland snorted. “Good game, alright. If you hadn’t gotten the quaffle in, then we would have won. That Quidditch Cup should have been ours.”

She crossed her arms. “That’s on you, then, isn’t it? It’s the Keeper’s job to prevent me from getting it in.”

“Why you little-”

“Rowland, stop,” Smith said, moving her hand out to stop him. “We all know that you didn’t get that cup legally. Didn’t play by the rules. Cheated.”

“I didn’t cheat.” Clara puffed, crossing her arms.

“Oh, maybe not you, but one of your teammates might have. Slytherins always cheat.”

“Even if that is true, which it isn’t, then why don’t you bring this up to them?”

“Bring it up to them?” Smith scoffed. “What kind of statement would that make? ‘Please, may we speak with you for a moment? We think that you did some unsightly dealings’.” She shook her head. “No, the best way to make them question their ethics is to get them where it hurts the most.”

Clara felt a shiver travel up her spine.

“By sending a message through their precious little Chaser.” She smiled. “Now, be a nice little girl and stay still for me, will you?”

*

They didn’t stop hitting her - not until there was blood on their shoes. Smith was the first recipient of it, judging by her shout of disgust. She turned to curses after that - some of which Clara hadn’t heard before. One of the curses felt like someone had lit a fire in her bloodstream, and white-hot pain exploded all over her. She would have screamed if she could, but it seemed one of the others made her silent. The pain seemed to drag on forever, and when Smith was finished, Clara couldn’t stop shaking.

Rowland found out about her injured shoulder and took great delight in making it worse - taking it as far as twisting it far beyond anything she was used to, and the pop in her shoulder made her think he managed to dislocate it.

Jackson took it upon himself to break her forearms, including her hand that she used to make the winning goal. He bent it in such an unnatural way that Clara threw up when she saw it. This earned her more beatings, this time to her stomach (what brilliant minds they were, kicking her in a spot that would encourage another throw-up). Clara begged for them to stop, but they remained deaf to her pleas. She wondered more than once if she was still silenced.

When they were done, they left her crumpled on the floor of the corridor, with little thought of how it would look if she was found.

Clara slowly moved towards the wall of the corridor, (her limbs were shaking uncontrollably, causing her to fall in her face several times), and slumped against it, taking in deep gulps of air. The Diary lay several feet away from her on the floor, open, with several pages missing.

She hoped that the damage hurt it somehow.

A pair of footsteps took Clara from her thoughts, and her breathing quickened. Were they back for more? Had they thought of something else to do to her?

“Easy, little Clara,” a rich voice soothed.

Clara’s eyes jolted to the source, her eyes growing wide once she saw who it was.

A tall, handsome boy that she had seen in plenty of pictures in the common room smiled down at her. He lifted a hand and rested it on her shoulder, soothing the pain, and the other enticed Clara’s eyes to close. They felt surprisingly light.

“Close your eyes, little one, and it will be over,” he continued, his voice lulling her to a state of calm. “Close your eyes, and you won’t have to deal with them anymore.”

She did, quickly falling asleep.


	22. Chapter 22

“Do you think she saw her attacker?” Ron managed to get out at some point, staring at Hermione’s face. “Because if he sneaked up on all of them, no one would ever know.”

However, Harry wasn’t looking at Hermione’s face. Once he recovered from his crying, he was more interested in Hermione’s hand. It was clenched on top of her stomach, laying on the blankets provided. Upon closer inspection, Harry noticed that something was poking out of it.

“Will you two lads be okay by yourselves?” Professor McGonagall asked, startling them. “I must go to Headmaster Dumbledore’s office to alert her parents about the petrification.”

“Y-yeah, I think we’ll be okay,” Harry answered, reluctant to take his eyes off Hermione’s hand. He almost feared that if he looked away, it would disappear.

Ron nodded in agreement.

Professor McGonagall gave them sympathetic looks, before giving them a sharp nod. “If you need me, I will be in my office in no more than twenty minutes. If you need Pomfrey, let her know.”

They nodded again and were left to themselves. Harry watched as Professor McGonagall left, before quietly pointing out his find to Ron. At his encouragement, Harry wrestled with Hermione to free the object. It was no easy task, as Hermione held onto it tightly. After what felt like an eternity, Harry finally got it free. Quickly unwrapping it, he noticed that it was a page out of a very old library book. Harry smoothed it out, and Ron leaned in close.

_Of many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious and deadly than the Basilisk, known as the King of the Snakes. This snake, which may reach a gigantic size, and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken’s egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed on the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees from only the crowing of the roster, which is fatal to it._

And underneath it, all was a single word scrawled in the handwriting Harry recognized to be Hermione’s. _Pipes_.

It was as though somebody had just flicked a light on in his brain.

“Ron,” Harry breathed, “this is it. This is the answer. The monster in the Chamber’s a Basilisk - a giant serpent! That’s why I have been able to hear it and no one else has. It’s because I understand Parstletoungue.” Harry looked at the beds surrounding them. “The Basilisk kills people by looking at them, but no one has died - because no one looked at it straight-on. Colin saw it through the camera, and the basilisk burned up the film. Justin - Justin must have seen it through Nearly Headless Nick! Nick got the full blast of it, but he can’t die again. Penelope was found in the Ravenclaw corridor, looking through a window, and Hermione was found with a mirror! I bet you anything that Hermione was using it to look around the corners! And-”

“And Mrs. Norris?” Ron asked.

“The water,” Harry said slowly, “The flood from Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. I bet you Mrs. Norris only saw the reflection.” He scanned the paper frantically. “‘The Basilisk flees from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it’! Hagrid’s roosters were killed! The heir of Slytherin didn’t want one anywhere near the castle once the Chamber was opened! ‘Spiders flee before the Basilisk’! It all fits!”

“But how’s the basilisk’s been getting around?” Ron asked, a little skeptical. “A dirty snake of that size, someone would have seen it.”

Harry pointed at the word Hermione wrote. “Pipes. Pipes, Ron, it’s been using the plumbing. That’s why I’ve been hearing voices inside the walls.”

Ron suddenly grabbed Harry’s arm. “The Chamber of Secrets!” he whispered, his voice cracking a little, “what if it’s a bathroom? What if it’s in-”

“Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom,” Harry finished.

They sat there for a moment, silent as the excitement of solving a riddle coarse through them.

“This means I can be the only Parstlemouth in the school,” Harry said. “The heir of Slytherin’s one, too. That’s how they’ve been controlling the basilisk.”

“But,” Ron started, “couldn’t your sister be a Parstlemouth?”

“Clara? No, I don’t think so. But even if she were, she would never open such a deadly Chamber and unleash a horrible monster! She isn’t like that!”

“Let’s say she did-”

“Let’s not say she did, because she didn’t. She can’t even kill a _spider_ without crying about it for days after, Ron, much less kill a bunch of roosters and instruct a basilisk to kill Muggleborns.”

“Oh,” Ron blinked. “Then what are we going to do? Shall we go straight to McGonagall?”

“We’ll head to her office,” Harry started. “She’ll be there in a few minutes, and it’s better if we have a one-on-one,”

Ron quickly agreed, and they quietly left. They ran down the stairs and corridors, headed towards the Transfiguration Professor’s office. They stopped, however, when they heard her voice ring throughout the school.

“All students are to return to their house dormitories at once. All teachers, please return to the fourth-floor corridor.”

Harry and Ron shared a look, before running towards the corridor. No way were they about to simply head to their dormitory when they had valuable information like this. They might even get awards for their service to the school!

As they neared the corridor, they slowed down, keeping to the walls. It was getting dark, so they had the shadows to help hide them. As they hid behind the closest pillar to listen in, the last professor arrived. Unironically, it was Lockhart.

“It has happened,” Professor McGonagall said, looking very white as she looked at the corridor wall, “A student has been taken by the monster. Right into the Chamber itself.”

When their attention shifted from Professor McGonagall to the wall, Professor Flitwick let out a squeal of start and Professor Sprout clamped her hand over her mouth. Professor Snape glowered at the wall.

Harry noticed that the words on the wall changed. Instead of the ominous ‘The Chamber of Secrets has been opened’, it was something more bone-chilling.

In bright red ink, still shiny and wet, were the words _Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever._

Harry couldn’t help but shiver from the words.

“Who is it?” Madame Hooch asked, her voice trembling. “Which student?”

“Clara Potter.”

Harry’s legs failed him at that moment, Ron quickly supporting him on his descent to the floor. Clara was taken? How? When? She was with him only moments ago. How did he miss her being kidnapped? Oh, he was such a horrible brother. If he hadn’t let his fury take over him the previous term, if he made sure that Clara was with him at all times, if he paid attention to his little sister like he was _supposed_ to, this never would have happened. Harry didn’t know if he could ever forgive himself. But what he did know was that he was going to get her out of that Chamber, or die trying.

*

It was lucky that Ron was paying attention to what the teachers were saying while Harry was in shock because soon after the teachers separated, he was dragging Harry to Lockhart’s office.

“Lockhart said he knew where the Chamber was,” Ron informed him. “If we tell him what we know, it may help him defeat the Basilisk and retrieve Clara before she gets hurt.”

Harry nodded in agreement, not quite sure he could form words. His mind was so jumbled with grief and determination he couldn’t even be sure he could _walk_ without collapsing to the floor.

As they neared the office, they were surprised to hear a lot of activity going on inside it. Ron pushed the door open, revealing a very frazzled Lockhart.

“Going somewhere?” Ron asked.

Professor Lockhart spun around quickly, gasping at the sight of them. “Er - well - yes.” He went back to ripping a life-sized poster of himself off the wall, shoving it into a trunk. “Urgent call, completely unavoidable - got to go-”

“What about my sister?!” Harry shrieked, shaking with rage. “My little sister is in that Chamber, and you’re going to flee like a bloody coward?!”

“Well, as to that - most unfortunate,” Lockhart had the decency to look ashamed, though it did little to calm Harry’s anger, “No one regrets more than I-”

“You’re the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!” Harry called. “You can’t go now - not with all the dark stuff going on here!”

“Well, I must say, when I took the job,” he started stuffing lilac-colored socks into his trunks, “nothing in the job description mentioned anything about this,”

“So you’re running away?” Ron asked, clearly appalled by Lockhart’s actions. “After all those things you wrote in your books?”

“Books can be misleading,” Lockhart offered.

“You wrote them!”

“My dear boy,” Lockhart said with a slam of his trunk, straightening up considerably. “Do use your common sense. Those books wouldn’t have sold half as well if people didn’t think I did them. No one wants to read about some ugly old Armenian warlock, even if he did save a village from werewolves. He’d look dreadful on the front cover. No dress sense at all. And the witch who banished the Brandon Banshee had a hairy chin. I mean, come on-”

“So you’ve just been taking credit for what a load of other people have done?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Harry, Harry,” Lockhart sighed. “It’s not nearly as simple as that. There was work involved. I had to track these people down, ask them exactly how they managed to do what they did. Then I had to put a Memory Charm on them so they wouldn’t remember doing it. If there’s one thing I pride myself on, ti’s mt Memory Charms. No, ti’s been a lot of work, Harry. It’s not all book signings and publicity photos, you know. You want fame, you have to be prepared for a long hard slog.”

Lockhart ended his speech with a loud ‘bang’ of another trunk and locked it.

“Let’s see,” he muttered. “I think that’s everything. Yes, only one thing left.” He pulled out his wand and turned to them. “Awfully sorry, boys, but I’ll have to put a memory charm on you. Can’t have you blabbering away about all my secrets. I’d never sell another book-”

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Harry shouted, pointing his own wand at Lockhart.

Lockhart flew backward, falling over his trunk. His wand flew high into the air - Ron was able to catch it - and flung it out of the open window.

“Guess you shouldn’t have let Professor Snape teach us that one, huh?” Harry asked, kicking Lockhart’s trunk to the side with more force than he intended to. Though, he had to admit that Lockhart’s flinch cooled his fury a bit.

“What do you want me to do?” Lockhart asked, eyeing Harry’s wand that was still aimed at his face fearfully. “I don’t know where the Chamber of Secrets is. There’s nothing I can do.”

“Then you’re in luck,” Harry answered, forcing Lockhart onto his feet. “We think we’ve figured out where it is. And what the monster is that’s inside it. Let’s go.”

They marched Lockhart out of his office and down the nearest stairs, along the dark corridor where the message shone on the wall, and to the door of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

They sent Lockhart in first. Harry was pleased to see that he was shaking.

Moaning Myrtle perked up from her spot on the cistern at the end of the toilet. “Oh, it’s you,” She drawled, spotting Harry. “What do you want this time?”

“To ask how you died.”

Myrtle’s composure changed in an instant. She looked as if she had never been more flattered in her life, a factor that made Harry unnerved.

“Ooooh, it was dreadful,” she sighed dramatically. “It happened right here, in this very cubical. I remember it so well. I’d hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something rather funny - a different language, I suppose. Anyway, what really got to me was that it was a _boy_ speaking. So, naturally, I unlocked the door to tell him to ‘go away’, and then-” Myrtle swelled up with self-important pride, “-I died.”

“How?”

Myrtle shrugged. “No idea. I simply remember a pair of big, yellow eyes by that sink.” She pointed. “My whole body seized up, and I was floating away.” She gave Harry a dreamy look. “And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry that she ever made fun of my glasses.”

Nodding, though not really paying any attention at all, Harry peered at the sink Myrtle had pointed at. While giving it a quite thorough look-over, he found a tiny snake on the side of one of the taps.

“Oh, that tap’s never worked.” Myrtle chimed brightly as Harry tried to turn it.

“Harry,” Ron started, “say something. Something in Parstletongue.”

“But-” Harry stopped. The only time he had been able to _say_ anything in Parstletongue was when he was looking at a real-live snake. He stared hard at the engraving, hoping that it would work.

“Open up,” he instructed.

After nothing happened, he looked over at Ron, who shook his head.

“English,” Ron answered.

Harry sighed, looking back to the snake. He willed himself to believe that it was real, that it was alive and breathing. If he moved his head, the candlelight made it seem like it was moving.

“Open up,” he said again.

This time, he didn’t hear regular words. He heard a series of strange hisses, and almost at once, the sinks began to move. Harry stood still, his mouth agape. He heard Ron gasp, and when he looked back to the sinks, he noticed a large pipe was exposed - large enough that it could easily fit Uncle Vernon’s car with room to spare.

“I’m going to go in,” Harry announced. He couldn’t _not_ go, especially since they found the entrance to the Chamber. His little sister was down there, probably cold and scared, and he was not about to abandon his duties as Big Brother over something like this. Even if he knew she was dead, he would still go down there. He would need to retrieve her body, and give her a proper burial.

Harry quickly shook that thought from his mind. No. Clara was still alive, and he was going to get her.

“I’ll go, too.”

There was a pause.

“Well, you hardly seem to need me,” Lockhart cheered, smiling slightly. “I’ll just-”

He put his hand on the doorknob, though was stopped by both Harry and Ron’s wands pointed at him.

“You go first,” Ron sneered.

Pale, Lockhart approached the opening.

“Boys,” he started, “boys, what good will it do?”

Harry simply pushed him forward in response.

Lockhart put his legs into the pipe. “I really don’t think-” he started to say, though Ron pushed him through before he could complete his thought, and Lockhart slid out of sight. Harry followed after, with Ron close behind.

When Harry began to worry if he’d ever see the bottom of the pipe, he collapsed onto the wet, stone ground. Lockhart was struggling to stand, and Ron soon came after, landing on top of Harry. They righted themselves quickly, though they had to help Lockhart up. They made their way farther into the tunnel, Harry eventually having to use the _Lumos_ charm, before seeing the outline of something enormous, lying across the bottom of the tunnel.

“Maybe it’s asleep,” Ron offered.

Lockhart’s hands were pressed over his eyes, taking Harry’s advice of closing their eyes if they saw something move to the heart. Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes, even though he could swear his heart was about to beat itself out of his chest from fear.

Very slowly, eyes narrowed in concentration, Harry edged forward, his wand held high in the event of him getting attacked. The light shining showed that the enormous thing was in fact a snakeskin, and it looked like it had recently been shedded. A very, very long snakeskin - at the very least 20 feet long.

“Blimey,” Ron breathed.

There was a sudden movement behind them, Lockhart’s knees had given way.

“Get up,” Ron said sharply, pointing his wand at him.

Lockhart got up to his feet, however, he dove at Ron, knocking him to the ground. Harry jumped towards them, though was too slow in his movements. Lockhart straightened, his eyes gleaming nastily. He held Ron’s wand, Spellotape and all, and pointed it towards them

“The adventure ends here, boys!” he exclaimed, “I shall take a bit of this skin back up to the school, tell them I was too late to save the girl, and that you two _tragically_ lost your minds at the sight of her mangled body. Say good-bye to your memories!” He raised Ron’s Spellotaped wand high into the air, and shouted “ _Obliviate!_ ”

The wand exploded with the force of a small bomb, though forced the energy of the spell at Lockhart, rather than at Ron and Harry. Lockhart was flung backward, hitting his head against the stone wall. The ceiling rumbled, with the force of the impact. Harry ran as stones began to fall, before turning behind to look. He was exceedingly glad he ran - as opposed to simply crouching down and covering his head - because there was a massive pile of rocks right where he was standing, blocking the tunnel.

“Ron!” he shouted. “Are you okay?”

“I’m here!” Ron’s voice called, though was greatly muffled. “I’m okay! This git’s not, though.”

There was a dull thud and a loud “ow!”. Harry snickered, as it appeared that Ron had just kicked him in the shin.

“What now?” Ron asked. “We can’t get through, it’ll take ages to clear all the rock.”

Harry looked at the tunnel ceiling. Huge cracks were formed, and it made him nervous to look, as the cracks seemed to expand. What if the whole tunnel caved in?

“Wait here,” Harry called. “Wait here with Lockhart. I’ll go on. If I’m not back in an hour,”

There was a pregnant pause.

“I’ll try to shift some of this rock,” Ron offered, trying to keep his voice steady. “So you can - can get back through. And Harry-”

“I’ll see you in a bit.” Harry interrupted, trying to sound more confident than he felt. He swiftly turned around and walked, feeling like he was approaching his doom with every step he took.

Harry tried to keep his head clear by thinking about what he would do. He would get his sister, and take her to Pomfrey, as she would certainly need it. If he came across the monster, he would do his best to defeat it. He read about some blasting spells in the library, but never got to practice them. He knew the words and wand movements alright, so maybe he would be able to use it with some success.

As he approached a large door, he felt his breath hitch. There were snakes all decorated across it, keeping it locked. He took in a deep breath.

“ _Open,_ ” he hissed.

The serpents moved, allowing the door to swing open.

Harry took in a deep breath, trying to keep himself from shaking so horribly. All he had to do was get his little sister. Just get Clara, and this will all be over. He would never have to come back into this Chamber. Harry nodded with determination, taking his first, shaky step.


	23. Chapter 23

Harry entered into a large chamber, with intimidating statues that looked very much like what he’d imagine basilisks to look like. The cold water and dark corners weren’t helping soothe his nerves in the least. What if the basilisk was in one of those corners, watching him? What if it snatched him up and ate him?

His heart was beating so quickly he was sure it was about to leap out of his chest. Where was Clara?

He pulled his wand out and walked slowly, his footsteps echoing loudly. As he passed the last pillar and statue, he came to a large statue - so large that he had to lean his head back to get a good look. On either side of it, there were two smaller statues - they looked like they could have been children. But whose, Harry had no idea.

As he examined the statue, he noticed a small, black-robed figure at the statue’s feet. The figure had deep red hair and was laying impossibly still.

“Clara!” Harry shouted, racing towards her. “Clara! Don’t be dead, oh please don’t be dead!” Heart in his throat, Harry quickly kneeled beside Clara as he frantically searched for life. He felt a pulse - slow as it was - and he collapsed on her with relief. She was cold, though he supposed it made sense since her heart was beating slowly. Harry let out another sigh of relief. She wasn't dead. However, he did notice that she was covered with bruises, had dried blood on her neck.

“Clara?” He asked weakly shaking her a little. “Wake up, Clara. Let’s get you warm.”

Her head lay limply to the side in response.

"Clara?" He tried again, his voice cracking.

“She won’t wake,” a soft voice said. “Not yet, at least.”

Harry startled, quickly turning to see who the intruder was, though stopped.

A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching them. He was oddly blurred around the edges, but there was no mistaking him.

“Tom?” Harry asked. “Tom Riddle?”

Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off of Clara.

“What do you mean, she won’t wake? Not yet?” Harry asked, desperation seeping into his voice.

“She’s alive,” Riddle offered, moving his gaze over to Harry. “And quite strong - strong enough to support another life, though it’s not surprising considering who she is,”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, thinking. What did he mean, ‘who she is’? Was it because she’s his little sister?

“I supposed you’re wondering what I mean,” Riddle continued, “It appears that Little Clara and I have a connection. What, I’m not sure, but it allows me to survive while she doesn’t die.”

Harry simply stared at Riddle for a moment, trying to grasp what he was told. How was it possible that Riddle and Clara shared a connection? Riddle attended school fifty years ago, so it wasn't like they could have possibly known each other. As Harry's thoughts raced through his head, he noticed that Riddle didn’t seem to be much older than he was in the memory.

“Are you a ghost?” He finally asked.

Riddle pointed towards an open book that lay on the ground. It was the same one he found on the floor of the corridor to the Great Hall. For a moment, he wondered if it arrived there the same way that it disappeared from his dorm room a few months ago, but he had more pressing matters to think about at the moment.

“Then help me, Riddle. Surely because of your connection with her - whatever it is - makes you feel some kind of protection towards her. There’s a basilisk around here, and it’ll kill us - kill Clara - if we’re not quick enough-”

“There’s no need.”

“What?” Harry asked.

“It won’t come unless it’s called.”

“What do you mean? I-” he paused, realizing that his wand was in fact not in his cloak pocket. Harry patted himself frantically, hoping that he simply misplaced it and did not, in fact, lose his wand.

“Searching for this?” Riddle asked, twirling Harry’s wand in his hand.

“Yes, thanks.” He smiled, offering his hand.

Riddle smiled wider. “Oh, you won’t be needing it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve waited a long time for this, Harry Potter. For the chance to see you. To speak to you.”

“Look,” Harry spat, losing his patience quickly. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re in the Chamber of Secrets. We can talk later.”

“We’re going to talk now,” Riddle said calmly, pocketing Harry’s wand.

Harry stared. There was something suspiciously odd about all of this.

“How did Clara get to be like this?” he asked slowly.

“That is an interesting question,” Riddle said pleasantly. “And quite a long story, I’ve come to realize. I suppose the real reason Clara Potter is like this is that she felt so terribly alone, that she was willing to open her heart to a total stranger who was willing to give her the comfort she sought.”

Harry bristled. “What are you talking about?”

“The diary,” Riddle started. “My diary. Little Clara has been writing in it for months, telling me the most interesting little secrets and discoveries of hers - how she learned that her big brother was the only one to survive the Killing Curse, how he became famous that night their parents died, only for him and his little five-month-old sister to be left at the doorstep of a family who hated them.”

Tom gave Harry a sadistic grin. “Though, of course, not without the drama of preteen angst and bulling. She worried about what House she’d be sorted into, the fear of discovering that she had been sorted into the wrong house, learning that she was the youngest Slytherin Seeker for many centuries - which was no small feat, I know.

“Even I, who have no interest in Quidditch, was quite proud of her achievement. There was no doubt in my mind that with her talent of Quidditch, she held some sway in the Slytherin House. If it was discovered that she held other talents - talents involving that of manipulation, to name one - she could easily sway others to side with her views and quite possibly lead a revolution. With the proper example and training, of course.” Riddle’s grin turned softer, looking back to Clara, “What was most interesting about her entries, though, was that she was willing to do anything to help relieve her brother of his bullies - the same brother who paid her no kind thought or attention for months. She even went to the extent that she willingly opened the Chamber of Secrets, and awoken the basilisk.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. All of this, all of this panic and fear, was because Clara was trying to help him. He shook his head. She tried to help him in the most effective way she was told how, even if she was lied to about it. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of love and appreciation for his sister. Even when she thought he hated her, she did what she could to make his life easier.

“Because of her willingness to help her older brother, it was all too easy to open the Chamber and release the basilisk to purge the school of those unworthy of any magical education. Though, she did question me about the legitimateness of my claims when she discovered that Mr. Creevey was petrified. I quickly thought of an explanation, though, and she hadn’t questioned my judgment since. Or, at least until now. It doesn’t matter, though. I did get the person I wanted to speak to most, though. You.”

“Me?”

Riddle nodded. “I was most curious when I learned about what happened to Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard in the world, was destroyed by a little boy, who was left with nothing but a scar.”

“Why do you care how I escaped Voldemort?” Harry asked. “Voldemort was after your time.”

Riddle gave him a sly smile, slowly pulling Harry’s wand out of his pocket. “Voldemort is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter,” he used Harry’s wand to trace through the air, writing three shimmering words:

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

Then he waved the wand once, the letters rearranging themselves to say:

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

“You see?” Riddle asked. “It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, my most intimate friends only, of course. Do you think I was going to use my filthy Muggle Father’s name forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother’s side? I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch?

“No, Harry. I fashioned myself a new name. A name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!”

Harry’s brain short-circuited as he stared at Riddle, the orphaned by who would grow up to be a murderer.

“You’re not,” Harry finally said.

“Not what?” Riddle snapped.

“Not the greatest sorcerer in the world,” Harry said, breathing quickly. “Sorry to disappoint you, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you didn’t dare try and take over at Hogwarts. Dumbledore saw through you when you were at school and he still frightens you now, wherever you’re hiding these days.”

The smile melted from Riddle’s face, only to be replaced by a very ugly look.

“Dumbledore’s been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!” he hissed.

“He’s not as gone as you might think!” Harry retorted. He was didn’t quite know what was coming out of his mouth - trying to scare Riddle more than anything - wishing that what he was saying was true.

Riddle opened his mouth but froze.

Music was coming from somewhere, though it was growing louder. Riddle whirled around to stare down the empty chamber, peering into the darkness. The music was eerie, spine-tingling, unearthly; it lifted the hair on Harry’s scalp, as well as creating goosebumps on his skin as he listened. Then, the music reached such a pitch that Harry felt it vibrating deep inside him, flames erupted at the top of the nearest pillar.

A crimson bird the size of a swan had appeared, piping the odd music to the vaulted ceiling. It had a golden tail, with gleaming talons, which was gripping a ragged bundle. A second later, the bird was flying straight at Harry. It dropped the ragged thing it was carrying at his feet, then landed heavily on his shoulder. As it folded its great wings, Harry linked up and saw it was had long, sharp golden beak and beady black eyes.

“Fawkes,” he sighed.

Riddle began to laugh, laughing so loudly that it sounded like there were ten Riddles instead of the one.

“This is what Dumbledore sends his defender? A songbird and an old hat.” He chuckled, moving around Harry. “ _Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four!_ ”

Harry watched, as a tunnel appeared behind Salazar’s legs, opening wider and wider until a massive black tunnel was formed. Something was stirring inside the tunnel, and Harry felt his heart lodge it’s way in his throat. What if it got Clara?

“Let’s see if the power of Lord Voldemort matches that of the great Harry Potter,” Riddle said, a sadistic smile on his lips.

Harry’s attention darted back to the tunnel, where the head of the basilisk could be seen. Harry clamped his eyes shut.

“ _Kill him,_ ” Harry heard Riddle order.

The basilisk moved forward, and Harry darted away. He stretched his arms forward, feeling his way along the tunnel. He could hear Riddle laughing-

Harry tripped. He fell hard onto the stone floor and tasted blood. The serpent was mere feet away from him, he could hear it coming.

There was a loud, explosive spitting sound right above him and then something heavy hit Harry so hard that he was flung against the wall - though something softened his landing. Harry waited for the fangs to sink into him, though heard more mad hissing, as well as something thrashing wildly against the pillars.

Harry couldn’t help it. He peeked his eyes open, just wide enough to see what was going on.

The serpent, bright, poisonous green in color and thick like an oak trunk, raised its head high into the air and its great blunt head was weaving drunkenly between the pillars. Fawkes soared around its head, pecking at its eyes. Harry’s eyes widened when he realized what Fawkes was doing. He was blinding the serpent.

There was movement beside Harry, causing his attention to stray from the battle in front of him. There was another serpent there - much smaller than the basilisk, though no less powerful - positioned in a place that seemed to be protecting Harry. His eyes grew wide at the sight.

“ _No!”_ Harry heard Riddle scream. “ _Leave the bird! Leave the bird! The boy is behind you! You can smell him! Kill him!”_

The blind serpent swayed, confused, but still just as deadly as it was. Fawkes still circled the serpent, piping his song and attacking it. The smaller serpent moved between Harry and the basilisk and released a trill of its own. The Sorting Hat flew towards Harry, hitting him in the face.

The basilisk swung its head to the trill, and Harry slammed the hat over his head.

“Help me, help me.” Harry thought, screwing his eyes shut. “Please help me!”

The Hat felt as if someone was squeezing it tightly before releasing it. Something very hard and very heavy landed on Harry’s head, nearly knocking him out. Blinking the stars away, Harry pulled the Hat off before realizing that there was indeed something in there.

A silver sword appeared in the Hat, it’s handle littered with gleaming stones and rubies the size of eggs.

“ _Kill the boy! Leave the bird and snake! The boy is behind you! Sniff - smell him!_ ”

Harry scrambled onto his feet, adrenaline pulsing through him, ready to dart at a moment’s notice. The serpent lunged blindly, and Harry jumped to the side. It lunged again, its forked tongue lashing against Harry’s side. Harry raised the sword in both of his hands.

It lunged again, this time the aim was true. Harry threw his whole weight behind the sword and drove it to the hilt into the roof of the serpent’s mouth.

As warm blood drenched Harry’s arms, he felt a searing pain just above his elbow. One long, poisonous fang was sinking deeper and deeper into his arm, splintering as the basilisk keeled over sideways and fell, twitching, to the floor.

Harry slid down the wall. He gripped the fang that was spreading the poison through his body and wrenched it out. But he knew it was too late - white-hot pain was spreading slowly and steadily from the wound. Even as he dropped the fang, his vision went foggy.

A patch of scarlet swam past, and Harry heard a soft clatter of claws beside him.

“Fawkes,” Harry swallowed thickly, “you were brilliant, Fawkes.”

The bird lay its brilliant head against him, just above the spot where the fang went into him.

Echoing footsteps made Harry look up.

“You’re dead, Harry Potter,” Riddle said above him. “Dead. Even Dumbledore’s bird knows it. Do you see what he’s doing, Potter? He’s crying.”

Harry blinked. He turned his head to Fawkes, struggling to concentrate as Fawkes moved in and out of focus. Thick, pearly tears were trickling down the glossy feathers.

“So ends the famous Harry Potter,” Riddle’s voice sounded distant. “Alone in the Chamber of Secrets, forsaken by his friends, defeated at last by the Dark Lord he so unwisely challenged. You and your little sister will be back with your dear Mudblood mother soon, Harry. She brought you twelve years of borrowed time - but Lord Voldemort got you in the end, as you knew he must.”

If this was dying, it wasn’t so bad. Even the pain was leaving him. But, Harry wondered, was this dying? Instead of going black, the Chamber seemed to be coming back in focus. Harry gave his head a shake, and there was Fawkes, still leaning his head against him. Harry looked towards Clara, and there was the serpent, protectively wrapped around her. There was a slight glow around them, and Harry wondered if the serpent was healing her.

“Get away, bird.” Riddle hissed. “I said, get away!”

Riddle raised his wand, pointing it at Fawkes. There was a loud bang, and Fawkes was flying off.

“Pheonix’s tears,” Riddle muttered, staring at Harry’s arm, which only held a nasty-looking scar. “Of course, healing powers. I forgot,” Riddle cleared his throat. “No matter, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter, you and me.”

He raised the wand.

Then, in a rush of red and blacks, Fawkes dropped something on the ground beside Harry - the _diary_. For a moment, both Harry and Riddle stared at it. Then, without thinking, without truly considering what he was doing, Harry grabbed the diary and stabbed the heart of it with the basilisk fang.

There was a long, dreadful scream. Ink sputtered out of the diary in torrents, streaming over Harry’s hands, flooding onto the floor. Riddle was on the ground, writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing, and then -

He was gone. Harry’s wand fell to the floor with a clatter and there was silence. Silence, except for the steady _drip, drip_ of the ink off the fang and what was still oozing out the diary. The basilisk venom had burned a sizzling hole right through it.

Shaking, Harry pulled himself up. His head was spinning as though he traveled miles and miles by Floo powder. Slowly, he gathered his wand and the Sorting Hat, and with a huge tug, retrieved the sword from the roof of the basilisk’s mouth.

Then came the faint groan from the other side of the Chamber, followed by cheerful trilling from the serpent. Clara was stirring. As Harry raced towards her, she sat up. Her unfocused eyes traveled from the serpent to the dead body of the basilisk, to Harry, and finally to the diary.

“Oh, Harry,” she whimpered. “I’m so sorry. I thought I was helping you - I did! I didn’t know that what Tom told me was wrong, not until Hermione was petrified! But, I should have known when the basilisk didn't actually do what Tom told me it would do-"

"What do you mean?" Harry interrupted.

"She was supposed to go after Draco, but she never did!"

Harry smiled when she told him, though she didn't notice, rather continuing with her explanation.

"-I was going to destroy it and stop all of this from continuing, but I was stopped before I could come here. I’m so sorry, Harry!”

“It’s alright, Clara,” Harry gave her a tired smile. “It’s finished. The basilisk won’t petrify anyone else, and Riddle’s gone.”

“H-he is?”

Harry nodded. “He is.”

Clara sighed, relieved. “I just wish she didn’t have to die,”

“She?”

“The basilisk. She was awful kind, you know, and really lonely.” Clara looked back into the tunnel the basilisk came out of. “I do wonder-”

“No,” Harry said. “Not until we get you to Madame Pomfrey at the very least. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Clara nodded. “Alright.”

She tried to stand, though nearly fell. The serpent quickly moved forward, using its head to help her up.

“Thank you, Nat.”

“Nat?” Harry asked.

“The Horned Serpent’s name is Nathair Uisage, though I call him Nat. I met him after my first Quidditch practice.”

Harry shook his head. “Alright, Clara, Nat-” he added as at the last moment “Let’s head out.”

“Good-bye, little Speakers,” The serpent hissed in response, and sunk into the water, gliding away.

Harry stared after it. “What just happened?”

“Nat’s a water-loving serpent. There’s likely an entrance from here to the Black Lake that he used to come in.”

Harry shook his head again. “Alright. Let’s go.”

*

As they walked, Harry did his best to console a sobbing Clara as the weight of what happened finally settled on her. The fact that she still had injuries from the Quidditch game - and whatever it was that stopped her from coming straight to the Chamber by her own accord - caused them to move slower.

When the finally made it to Ron and Lockhart, Harry and Ron shared a look as Clara sat, resting. Lockhart noticed her and quickly stopped whatever it was he was doing to try and cheer her up. Clara smiled from his efforts, though Harry had a feeling that it would be quite some time before Clara was back to normal. Or, as back to normal as she could be, all things considered. As they got closer to the pipe to the bathroom, Clara whispered 

“ _S_ _teps_ ,” and quickly they appeared out of the walls of the pipe. Ron and Harry gave each other another defeated look while Lockhart squealed with glee. Clara stepped forward, hobbling as she made her way up the steps and through the pipe. Harry stayed close behind her in case she needed him, as Fawkes stayed close to them, lighting the way.

Once they made it to the bathroom and the sink slid back into place, they heard a gasp. Whipping his head around, Harry saw Myrtle goggling at them.

“You’re alive,” she blinked at Harry.

“There’s no need to sound so disappointed,” he said grimly, attempting to clean off his glasses from the blood and slime once again.

“Oh, well, I’d just been thinking. If you had died, you’d have been welcome to share my toilet,” Myrtle blushed.

“Urgh!” Ron grunted, stalking out of the bathroom. Harry and Lockhart hurried after him, and Clara gave a shrug of her shoulders to Myrtle.

“Where to now?” He asked once they were out, sparing a glance to Clara. “Should we go to the Hospital Wing?”

Harry nodded. “You take Clara to the Hospital Wing, and Lockhart and I will follow Fawkes. I have a feeling that Dumbledore’s going to want to speak to me.”

“Alright. Come on, Clara. Let’s get you taken care of.” Ron soothed, taking Clara by the arm and helping her walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not too sure if I like what I posted, considering the explosion of information and all, but oh well. I can edit it later, I suppose.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd go ahead and publish the last two chapters. Enjoy!!

As Ron and Clara made their way to the Hospital Wing, Clara couldn’t help but feel miserable. It was all her fault that all of this happened. If she had just listened to her gut when Tom first told her about the Petrification, then none of this would have happened. Clara’s mood dropped even more when she remembered Tom. He told her an awful lot about himself in the Diary and even managed to show her clips of his life while she slept. He was so lonely, so very much like her.

Clara wished that there was some way that she could go back in time and be his friend. If that was possible, then she could maybe prevent this entire war and Myrtle dying from happening in the first place.

As Ron pushed open the Hospital Wing door, Clara startled when she heard a bang.

“-then FIND HER!” Someone shouted, rattling Clara’s skull.

When she refocused, she was surprised to see Draco wide awake and staring at Madame Pomfrey, daring her to refuse him. However, he looked as if he had been crying at one point - and looked as if he hadn’t slept in quite some time.

Clara wondered what time it was.

“Mister Malfoy,” Madame Pomfrey sighed. “We all miss her and want her back, safe, and sound. Shouting that we need to find her will not bring her back.”

“Uh,” Ron cleared his throat, “She’s here.”

Their attention whipped to them, and Clara slid behind Ron, so he could take a bulk of the attention.

“Clara!” Draco cried, sliding out of the hospital bed.

“Not so fast!” Madame Pomfrey said, righting him before quickly walking up to Ron and Clara. “Come, we’ve got to get you looked over. Miss Potter, take the bed next to Mister Malfoy, the one with the curtains around it - you can catch up with each other there before I get to you. Ron, stay still for a moment.”

“But-” Ron started, only to stop from the look Madame Pomfrey was giving him.

“No buts, Mister Weasley. Stand tall.”

Ron did as instructed, though not without rolling his eyes as Madame Pomfrey waved her wand in front of him.

Clara smiled at his antics before her attention was taken away by the Petrified students. They didn’t seem to be as pasty-pale as they were, but none of them had left the Hospital Wing. Had the antidote not worked? Or was it a slower-moving antidote than she was expecting?

“Are you alright, Clara?” Draco asked, using his wand to pull her bedding back, allowing her to simply slide onto the bed.

“I will be,” She nodded.

Draco looked like he was about to pop from curiosity. When he finally opened his mouth to say something, Madame Pomfrey came over, shutting the curtains surrounding Clara’s bed, followed by a silencing charm.

“Madame Pomfrey?”

“Yes, Miss Potter?”

“Why are the other students still asleep? The ones who were Petrified, I mean?”

“Because it is still early in the morning. They have received their antidote, though they were also given a low dose of a sleeping potion so that their body can heal whatever else it needs to before they move about. They should be up and moving by noon, and will leave the Hospital Wing by dinnertime."

“Oh, okay.”

Madame Pomfrey gave her a soft smile. “Now, I will be running a diagnostic charm on you. It will tell me about whatever injuries you had within the last twenty-four hours. This includes whatever spells, curses, or potions that were used on you.”

Clara stiffened for a moment, before nodding in acknowledgment.

Madame Pomfrey cleared her throat and uttered the charm. A quill and parchment appeared beside Madame Pomfrey, quickly scribbling away. She looked over it, nodding.

“Some injuries from your Quidditch match - oh, looks like you pulled a muscle from the winning throw -”

She stopped, her brows furrowing in concentration.

Clara’s heart rate began to speed up.

Madame Pomfrey’s face grew incredibly pale as she read what was left on the paper, before snatching it out of the air.

“Miss Potter,” she cleared her throat, “did anything happen to you after you left the Hospital Wing this afternoon?”

Clara looked down. “Uh, there was, um, some students who wanted to talk to me.”

Madame Pomfrey gave her a look.

“They weren’t pleased that I won the game for Slytherin,” Clara continued, looking down at her dirty hands. “So they thought they’d give me a lesson, and send a message to the Slytherin Team about the consequences of cheating - which we didn’t! I swear we didn’t!”

Madame Pomfrey sighed. “Miss Potter, are you familiar with the Unforgivables?”

“Unforgivable what?”

Madame Pomfrey sat down at the edge of the bed. “There are three curses that are Unforgivable, as deemed by the Ministry. The use of such curses for any reason other than the last resort in self-defense is a one-way ticket to Azkaban - our prison. They are the Imperious Curse, the Crutiatus Curse, and the Killing Curse. Do you understand what I am saying so far?”

Clara nodded.

“The Imperious Curse controls the victim to do what the castor wants them to do,” Madame Pomfrey continued, “and the Cruciatus Curse is the torture curse. The Killing Curse kills, obviously. There is only one person known to have lived through the Killing Curse, and that is your older brother, Harry.”

“Okay,” Clara said slowly. “What does that have to do with what is on that paper?”

“Because, Miss Potter,” Madame Pomfrey took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You were under the Crutiatus Curse. For close to forty minutes, it seems.”

Clara’s jaw dropped.

“I hoped this wasn’t the case, but because it was a student who used the curse, we will have to identify them, and they will have to go to Azkaban. Do you know who did it?”

Clara looked down. “Um, it was one of the Ravenclaw Beaters. Smith, I think.”

Madame Pomfrey nodded. “We will have you make sure before we analyze her wand. I will go fetch Professor Flitwick, and alert him of the situation.” She turned to the foot of the bed. “Under normal circumstances, you would have experienced nerve damage from prolonged exposure to the curse, as well as a lack of control of your limbs. 

“However, it appears that there was a minor healing spell cast on you shortly after the event that took away most of the damage.” Madame Pomfrey pulled out a small, clay bottle. “This is a healing tonic, meant to heal any ailment in the nerves.” She pulled out a small glass bottle. “This will help with the pulled muscle,” and another clay bottle. “Finally, this will help soothe the pain in your shoulder.”

“My shoulder?”

“It was dislocated. I will put it back in the socket, and you must drink that potion immediately after. Lay down, please.”

Clara obeyed, quickly gripping the bedsheets.

Madame Pomfrey walked up and placed one of her hands on Clara’s shoulder, the other on her arm. Carefully, she moved the arm until it popped back into place. Clara took in a deep intake of air as the pain in her shoulder went away, although it was now replaced with a dull throb. Clara quickly drank the potion (she nearly threw it back up because it tasted like how feet smelled). Once it was down, the pain slowly dissipated.

Madame Pomfrey moved on with her task, casting several spells that caused her limbs to jerk. Clara thought she was mending broken bones, but judging by the look in her eyes there was something else going on, too.

Clara hoped it wasn’t something permanent.

“Now,” Madame Pomfrey started a little while later, helping Clara into a sitting position and propping pillows behind her back, “don’t move that shoulder for the rest of the night and drink the rest of your potions. I will tell Dumbledore about the situation.”

With that, Madame Pomfrey opened the curtain, walking briskly out of the Hospital Wing.

“Are you going to be okay, Clara?” Draco asked again.

She nodded. “I just have to drink these,” She lifted the bottles.

The doors opened again, and Harry was rushing towards her.

“Are you okay? What did Pomfrey say?”

“I’m okay, I think. Madame Pomfrey wants me to drink these potions while she goes to get Headmaster Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore? Why?”

Clara remained quiet.

Harry sighed. “Well, let’s get these down,” He grabbed one, pulling the stopper off of it. “Open up.”

Clara did so and grimaced as it went down.

“I wish there was a way to improve the taste of potions,” Draco said, pulling at a loose string in his blanket, “they always taste nasty and I nearly threw them up when I was younger.”

“Maybe you can find a way,” Clara smiled.

Draco blushed, while Harry rolled his eyes.

“Come on, the last one,” Harry pulled the stopper out, a soft ‘pop’ following it.

Clara shuddered.

As soon as she swallowed it, the doors opened once again. Dumbledore came in, a grave look on his face, as Professor Snape and Madame Pomfrey followed behind.

“Miss Potter,” Dumbledore started, “I believe you know why I’m here,”

Clara nodded, looking down at her knees.

“You’re not _expelling_ her, are you?” Draco sneered. “Because if you are, I’m going to tell my father about this.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “No, Mister Malfoy, I am not expelling Miss Potter. However, it has come to my attention that a grave crime has been committed against her. I wish to do what I can to help her.”

Harry and Draco straightened, while Clara curled into herself.

“Crime? What crime?” Harry asked.

“Who did it?” Draco followed.

“Unfortunately, Mister Malfoy, it is not for me to decide to tell you the details,” Headmaster Dumbledore said, “that decision is up to Miss Potter.”

Draco turned to look at her, though she stubbornly looked away.

Madame Pomfrey sighed. “Mister Potter, if you’ll come with me, we can get you taken care of.”

Harry complied, standing up from his chair and following Madame Pomfrey down the room.

Headmaster Dumbledore must have noticed the confused look on her face as she glanced in Professor Snapes' direction because he quickly said

“Professor Snape is with me because he is your Head of House. As we are unable to contact your guardians at this time, he will stand in as your guardian for now. He is also serving as a witness should something happen and we need to report to the Ministery.”

Clara’s eyes grew impossibly wide, and Draco quickly jumped in.

“There’s no need to worry about the Ministery, Clara,” he said. “The last event in which there was a court hearing was way back in the 16th century when a Defence teacher allowed one of his beasts to kill a student.”

Clara gave him a wide-eyed look, and Professor Snape scowled at Draco.

“That’s quite enough,” Professor Snape drawled when Draco opened his mouth to farther explain.

Draco snapped his jaw shut, looking at his bedspread glumly.

Headmaster Dumbledore gave her Clara a sad smile as he cast a silencing charm around him, Professor Snape, and Clara. After a moment, he summoned the chair, sitting carefully.

“Miss Potter,” he started, clearing his throat, “I understand that you must be confused right now, and possibly blame yourself for what happened, as well as what is going to happen. I want you to know that this is not your fault. None of it.”

Clara remained silent.

“We’re not going to get the one who Cursed you now, as it is still early in the morning. However, after breakfast, we will have a few Aurors in my office, only to ask you a few questions - again, you are not in trouble in the least. I don’t know the exact number yet, but I cannot imagine it being more than three.

"You will need to be there to properly identify who it was, and once the student has been brought up into my office, the Aurors will check their wand. When it is found that they did indeed use an Unforgivable, the Aurors will escort the student out of Hogwarts, and to the Ministry, where they will prepare to take the student to Azkaban, should the Wizagmont choose to send them. You will not have to be there very long if you do not want to. Do you understand so far?”

She nodded.

“You will remain here for the night and quite possibly for tomorrow, just to make sure that there were no lasting effects from what happened.” He shifted. “Do you remember who it was who attacked you?”

“They were members of the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team,” Clara said softly. “It was Chaser Jackson, Beater Smith, and Keeper Rowland.”

Professor Dumbledore nodded slowly. “The other two students will be punished thoroughly - quite possibly being expelled should the Governors, the Head of Houses, and I choose so.”

“What if they aren’t expelled?”

“Then they will wish they were,” Snape spoke up. “As you are under my authority, I will be the one to choose the punishments they receive. Trust me when I say, Potter, that they will regret the very day they were born.”

Clara looked down.

“I suppose this is all we need to say.” Dumbledore stood up. “Rest well, Miss Potter. I do not doubt that tomorrow will be a rather tiring day for you.”

Clara nodded again, not lifting her gaze.

The two left quietly, and the door shut firmly behind them.

Clara sighed. She really wished she could just skip tomorrow all together.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that I was going to post the rest of the chapters today. Read Chapter 24 if you haven't already!

The next morning was something Clara wished she never had to live through again. Madame Pomfrey lifted Clara into a chair that looked similar to a Muggle wheelchair, though it was floating instead of having wheels. Clara furrowed her eyebrows at this, realizing that she’d probably have to rely on someone else to take her from place to place. She didn’t like it, since she hated relying on someone else to help her with basic tasks, but she didn’t think there was anything she could do about it.

As Madame Pomfrey lowered Clara onto the chair, she held her breath as she settled into it, hoping that she wouldn’t immediately tip over. It didn’t feel as wobbly as Clara expected, but she didn’t try to tempt fate by moving around more than she had to. Draco tried his hardest to cheer her up before she left, but the best she could do was offer him a shaky smile.

There were four Aurors in the Headmaster’s office when she arrived - one of whom was the Head Auror. Professor Flitwick was there, and he looked absolutely furious. When the Aurors saw her, their faces ranging from shock to pure disbelief.

Clara looked away when she saw them.

“Is this the girl?” The Head Auror asked.

“She is,” Dumbledore nodded. “Harry, if you will,”

Harry, who was adamant about being with Clara through this, pushed her up the stairs, stopping just shy of the Headmaster’s desk. He took a seat at one of the chairs to her right, grabbing onto her hand and giving it a squeeze.

The Head Auror gave Clara a weary look, clearing his throat.

“Miss Potter,” he started, getting Clara to look up, “My name is Aleksander Kowalski. I am the Head Auror of Britain. I used to be a Hufflepuff, back in the days when I attended Hogwarts - Captain of the Quidditch team,” he gave her a wink, causing her to giggle. “I am sorry that we couldn’t meet under better circumstances.”

“It’s alright, sir,”

He gave her a small smile, before schooling his features, making them suitable for the situation they were for. “It has been reported that you were attacked in the corridor of the third floor yesterday afternoon. Is that correct?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir,”

“Why did they attack you?”

“They had to give Slytherin a message,”

Kowalski and his colleagues shared a look. “What kind of message?”

“That the Quidditch Cup should have been theirs, and we cheated to win the game - which we didn’t do, by the way. It was a perfectly lawful game.”

“Quidditch?” One of the Aurors asked. “All of this is because of Quidditch?”

Clara looked down once more, a sudden surge of shame washing over her.

“That’s enough, Schmidt.” Kowalski reprimanded.

“Apologies, sir,”

Kowalski sighed. “Miss Potter, there’s no need to be ashamed.”

“Okay, sir,”

He didn’t look convinced at her answer, though he didn’t push further. “Do you know who it was who attacked you?”

She nodded. “It was Rowland, Smith, and Jackson. A Chaser, Beater, and Keeper for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team.”

“And your Medi-Witch reported that you were under the Curtiatus Curse for up to forty minutes. Do you know who cast the curse on you?”

She nodded again.

“And?”

She shook her head.

“Clara,” Harry said lowly, “they deserve what’s coming.”

“But they didn’t mean it, I’m sure,” Clara defended.

“If I may,” Kowalski intervened, “the caster needed to mean it to properly cast the curse. The Unforgivables must have a certain measure of rage and desire to see the victim suffer in order for them to be cast. And for you to be under the curse for so long, there is no doubt they meant for it to happen.”

Clara sighed.

“Do you know who did it?”

“It was Smith,” she said quietly.

“Brittany Smith?” Professor Flitwick asked. “But she’s just a Sixth-Year.”

“Then it would be even more detrimental to her life if she did cast the curse.”

“Filius, if you’ll retrieve Miss Smith, please,” Headmaster Dumbledore asked.

Professor Flitwick nodded, quickly walking out the door, shutting it firmly behind him.

“It’ll be alright, Clara,” Harry soothed. “You’ll see.”

“But what if she ends up going to Azkaban? Draco said it wasn’t a nice place,”

“Because of her age, she won’t be in the highest security cell,” Kowalski said. “She may be granted visitation from her friends and family, so it won’t be as isolating as your Draco likely told you.”

“But still,”

“She’ll get nothing more than what she deserved,” Kowalski assured. “Speaking of which, I have something for you, Miss Potter.”

“You do?”

At her question, he pulled out a small sack from his cloak, quickly opening it. “Don’t be fooled by the small size, Miss Potter,” he grinned. “This bag has an extension charm placed on it. It can hold as much as you wish, without losing space. But, it is not just the bag I wish to give you.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. Inside, there are several items that have protective and healing spells and runes on them.” He reached in, pulling out a long, thin necklace that held some kind of crystal and some other stone.

What really fascinated her was that they were meshed together, twisting into one another like those marble countertops Aunt Petunia looked at from time to time.

Kowalski carefully clasped the necklace around her neck, laying the stone perfectly center on her chest. When the stone settled, she felt a sort of warmth flow from it.

“This is one of the necklaces that stimulates healing and helps soothe anxiety. We’re not sure of what kind of long-term health issues you may face from prolonged exposure to the Crutiatus since we’ve never had a record of someone as young as you survive the curse. We hope these will prevent anything serious. There are other pieces in here, like this ring,” he pulled out a small sapphire ring and slipped it on her finger, “will protect you from other harmful jinxes and hexes. Unfortunately, the Unforgivables cannot be deflected, but their effects will be dampened if you have one of these on you.”

“How will we know which is which?” Harry asked.

“Glad you asked because I nearly forgot.” Kowalski smiled. “I was instructed to give you this by our Unspeakables - they also made these, so they’ll last longer than they would if us knuckleheaded Aurors tried.” He handed Harry something that looked like a small book. “Being the Unspeakables they were, they wanted to spell out what everything does so that there’s no confusion.”

Right then, the doors of the office flew open, revealing a deeply frustrated Professor Flitwick, followed closely behind by Smith.

“What is the meaning of this?” Smith demanded. “And what’s that cheater here for?”

“Easy, Smith,” Harry glared.

“Or what, you’ll Petrify me?” Smith challenged.

“That’s enough!” Professor Flitwick trilled. “Where’s your wand?”

Smith’s eyes grew wide, before narrowing them and crossing her arms. “What do you need my wand for?”

“We need to analyze it, Miss,” Schmidt said, walking closer. “It can either be the easy way or the hard way. You choose.”

Smith glared at the Auror for a moment, before pulling out her wand.

The Auror took it, quickly walking over to Kowalski, who cast a spell that Clara doubted she had ever heard before.

“What are you doing?” Smith asked.

“We’re checking what spells have been cast with this wand,” Kowalski answered.

“Why?” her voice cracked.

“If you’ve been a good girl, you have nothing to worry about,” another Auror chimed, causing Smith’s face to pale.

When it was discovered that Smith did indeed use the Crutiatus Curse, the mood dropped quite considerably. The Aurors froze for a moment, no doubt trying to wrap their heads around the idea that a Sixth-Year had performed such a horrible Curse on a First-Year - let alone because the very same who First-Year managed to win a Quidditch game. Smith was swiftly escorted out by two Aurors - with no small amount of shrill explicates and threats against Clara and the Aurors escorting her out, vowing that they would hear from her family lawyers. The third Auror was trailing behind, just in case he needed to stun the Beater. Once they were released by the Headmaster, Harry quickly took her back to the Hospital Wing, where Clara promptly fell back to sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

*

When Clara woke once more, she was amazed to see all kinds of treats and well-wishes surrounding her. She was surprised to see all the candies, toys, and cards surrounding her bed, especially since she was sure that the entire school now knew that she was the one who opened the Chamber. It was Ron who eventually told her that none of the other students thought poorly of her, and several of the older years seemed far more sympathetic towards her when they learned about it. He even overheard the older Gryffindors and Hufflepuff make a vow to befriend anyone who seemed standoffish, in order to prevent another event like hers from happening again.

Luna visited later that day, having little trinkets with her to ward off ill-willed creatures that she gave to Clara, as she was convinced that it was the nargles that was preventing Clara from making a full recovery.

Fred and George also visited, even bringing her hand-made candies and pastries. If they weren’t so gifted in the art of mischief-making, Clara was certain they would have done the route of baking - their cookies were simply _divine._

Dobby, who Clara had developed a tentative friendship with while he was watching over Harry, brought her a crudely-made picturebook filled with old pictures of Clara’s family when they were at Hogwarts. Clara carefully ran her fingers along the sides of it, tearing up as she flipped through the pages. When Clara asked where he got them, he simply shrugged and gave her a mischievous smile.

Her dormmates and Quidditch teammates visited Clara next, catching her up on the latest storied from the Dungeons.

Ursa, Camilla, and Scarlett eagerly told her about how her wand had caused such massive destruction in their dorm. As Camilla told her about the events, Clara deduced that the wand went off at about the time Clara was cornered by the Ravenclaws and did most of its damage while she was under the Crutiatus Curse. It finally subsided about the time that Tom sent her to sleep and took her to the Chamber.

Clara remembered that Salazar's portrait was still in the Chamber, and she made the mental note to retrieve his portrait. She figured that he would rather spend his time in the Slytherin Common room where he can watch over them, instead of spending all his time on his own.

Along with the Slytherins, Percy also came down just before dinner, keeping her company and catching her up on whatever lessons she missed. He was quite disappointed when he learned that she was the one who opened the Chamber, and was even more so when he learned that she was bullied through much of her year, despite him assuring her that he would help like he promised he would at the Burrow.

To try to make up for it, he told her as much as he knew about cursed objects so that she knew what to notice so she could avoid them in the future.

“Remember,” Percy told her one day, “don’t trust anything when you can’t immediately see where it holds its brain. If you have any doubts, you can either ask a teacher, myself, or Fred and George.”

Clara furrowed her eyebrows. “But, aren’t there talking books in the Wizarding World?”

Percy smiled. “The keyword is ‘talking’. We do have books that can read themselves - similar to a Muggle book on tape. But there are no well-wishing books that can respond when you write in it.”

“Oh,”

Percy smiled warmly. “Now, get some rest. I hear that you’ll be able to leave here soon, and you’ll want to be well-rested if you’re going to live through the argument Harry and Malfoy are sure to have when they figure out where you’re going first.”

“Huh?”

“Harry wants you at the Gryffindor Tower so he can keep an eye on you as you recover, while Malfoy wants you at the Slytherin Dungeons where you can rest. They already got into fights about it all over Hogwarts, and I imagine tomorrow will be worse.”

“Oh, alright. Good night, Percy.”

“Good night, Clara.” Percy took the bedsheets and tucked it around her, leaving her feeling awfully warm and cozy.

Clara couldn’t remember the last time someone had tucked her in. Harry used to do it, a long time ago but stopped for whatever reason. As Percy made sure that she was safe and secure, Clara couldn’t help but wonder what her life would have been like if Percy was her older brother, also.

*

Early the next morning, it was decided that Clara would be going to the Slytherin Dungeons. Harry was right mad about it but lightened up a little when he heard the reasoning why. It was so Professor Snape could easily get to her should she have a sudden relapse in health, instead of fetching him down half-way through the castle, by which when he finally arrived to the Gryffindor Tower, Clara could be too far gone for any help.

She shivered when she heard it, but she couldn’t fault them for fearing the worst. She just wished they didn’t have to.

It was Castor and Pullox who showed up a few moments later to bring her down to the Dungeons. She was once again placed on the floating chair, where Harry offered himself to push her while Castor and Pullox carried her ‘Get Well Soon!’ gifts. There were more than a few double-glances as Clara was escorted back to her common room, though she tried her best to ignore them. Pollux and Harry tried their best to keep her occupied, talking to her about whatever news they had neglected to tell her previously. She didn’t know quite what to think about Dumbledore canceling the end of the year exams, though she was quite glad of it. She didn’t know if she could properly focus on her exams after what happened in the Chamber.

By the time they arrived, Harry had reluctantly left her, though he made the two Slytherins swear to get him if Clara showed any signs of declining before he let them take her through the tunnel. At once, they agreed, and Clara was pushed through the stones. Because of how early it was, there were only a few people in the common room. Kiera took Clara from Castor and Pullox, taking her up to her dorm room and settled her on her bed, where she promptly fell back to sleep.

*

The rest of the days went by slowly, despite Clara being up and walking soon after arriving back to the Dungeons. After recovering, she explored new parts of the school with the guidance of Cedric and Luna.

Luna showed her all kinds of places off the grounds - including an area where there were large, black, skeletal horses with wings. Clara nearly screamed when she saw them, but Luna was quick to calm her, showing that they were peaceful creatures (Theastrals, she learned was their name), despite their unsettling looks. They spent the rest of their evening there, playing with the young ones that were brave enough to approach the girls.

Luna promised to take Clara up to the Ravenclaw common room, though she said that they would have to wait until the next year. There were far too many ill-willed nargles, wacklesprots, and other nasty little critters around for Luna’s liking, and she said that she’d bring the proper protections for Clara when she went up to their tower. Clara didn’t think anything of it, simply used to Luna’s odd topic choices.

Cedric showed her everything that was inside the castle, including going as far as where to go to get into the Hufflepuff common room. She was particularly amused by needing to knock on a barrel to gain entrance.

When she asked what would happen if she got the pattern wrong, Cedric simply laughed and said that the painting would toss one of the fruits at them. That was why the Hufflepuffs were so good at dodging flying objects, like bludgers and stray plants that had a mind of their own.

When they finally came up to the Hufflepuff Commonroom, she was amazed by the coziness of it - reminding her very much of that hobbit hole in the J.R.R. Tolkein book that she read just last year - and wished that she had been sorted into Hufflepuff, rather than Slytherin. At least in Hufflepuff, Clara never would have felt cold.

But, as she later realized, as much as she adored the Hufflepuff common room, she loved the Slytherin common room more. There was something about the Black Lake that called to her, and she loved to be near it.

After, when Cedric showed her where the kitchen was, Clara was most surprised when she found that there were House Elves there. They were responsible for all the food preparations, cleaning of the laundry, tidying of the dorm rooms, and other chores that kept Hogwarts looking tidy. She simply thought that the food magically appeared - the same as her clothes. Though, when she actually considered it, House Elves were by far the more logical explanation.

One of them - Tabby was his name - immediately latched onto Clara, doing absolutely everything for her. He brought her several sandwiches and teas, as well as a cool lemonade. Clara had never tasted such delicacy and was amazed that lemons could create such a refreshing drink. After hearing her praise, Tabby wept with joy and loudly proclaimed that if she ever needed his assistance, she should simply call his name. He promised that he would show up immediately, no matter what he was doing beforehand.

Cedric was beside himself with amusement as he watched Clara and Tabby interact. He later told her that House Elves do not normally behave in such a manner, but he did hear that some of the House Elves who work in Hogwarts did not have Masters of their own, and only worked there until they managed to find Masters they liked. Clara thought it was very odd, though she quickly shrugged it off. Surely Tabby was being particularly attentive and was not looking for someone to serve.

Clara also visited the Chamber one last time before summer vacation, where she swore she would find some way to take Salazar out of the Chamber and into the Slytherin common room, where he was before. Clara made the decision to talk to one of the Hogwarts House Elves, so she could get ideas of how to properly move Salazar’s portrait and not damage it. She thought she could ask Tabby, though figured that it should wait until she came back next year. Tabby was surely busy with his own duties, as it was quickly coming up to the end of the year.

*

“Good morning, Clara,” Harry chirped one morning, plopping onto the seat in front of her.

“Good morning, Harry,” she replied.

“Do you know what day it is, today?”

She poked at her eggs. “Uh, Wednesday?”

“Yes, but what else?”

Clara thought for a moment. “Um, I’m not sure.”

“It’s the 26th! Your birthday!”

Clara dropped her spoon. “My what? How?”

“Well, you know, after three hundred and sixty-four days go by, your birthday comes around and you turn a year older.” Hermione smiled, taking the seat next to Harry.

“Honestly, Hermione,” Ron shook his head, before facing Clara. “We have a party planned for you at the Gryffindor Tower. Nothing too big, just the Gryffindors you know and are friendly with. Fred and George went to persuade the House Elves to make you a cake and some snacks. I think they also said something about pizza.”

“Pizza?” Clara and Harry asked.

“Yeah, pizza. It won’t be like those Muggle take-out pizzas, but it’s good. Mum makes them sometimes, and they’re really good.”

“But, it’s only eight o’clock! We can’t skip school!”

“No need,” Harry chimed. “Just come up to the Gryffindor Tower after classes. The password’s _Forza Forte_. Think you can remember it?”

Clara nodded. “Of course!”

By the time classes were over, Clara rushed to the Gryffindor Tower, where she quickly found out that Ron thought she got along with everyone in Gryffindor. Evidently, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had planned this event for months, before the Twins found out. After that, nearly the whole house learned about the very same afternoon, resulting in it being the massive house party it became.

When she set foot into the common room, there were streamers and balloons all over. All of a sudden, the Gryffindors lept from their hiding places, making party poppers, horns, and other noisy objects go off as soon as she fully exited the entrance. The Twins were nearly bursting with excitement as they surrounded Clara with tricks of all sorts for her to choose from. Harry had to shoo them away several times, especially as it went later into the night and the Twins got hyper with sugared-up energy.

Tabby and Dobby were there, too. They presented the massive cake and fought over who would give Clara the first piece. Tabby eventually won, though Dobby was quick to give her the first bit of ice cream. Where they managed to find the ice cream, Clara had no idea. But she wasn’t about to go looking.

It was late at night when Clara learned that she received presents. She was quite confused, especially since she only spoke to two other Gryffindors outside of Harry and the Weasleys. Nonetheless, Clara was sat down in the center of the common room, where she was presented with gift after gift.

She could hardly explain how touched she was by their generosity and vowed that she would return the favor as soon as she could. One of the Seventh-Year boys who heard her was quick to assure her that she didn’t have to. Despite her being a Slytherin, she was also a Gryffindor. Gryffindors are family, he said, and family takes care of each other - even if it’s doing something like a birthday party.

By the end of it all, it was time that Clara made her way back down to the Dungeons. With her gifts placed carefully in a small bag with an extension charm that one of the upper years gave her, she slipped the bag in her skirt pocket. It was hours after curfew, so Harry gave her his Cloak of Invisibility. Clara was quite glad for it, too, since she nearly bumped into Filch and Professor Snape. When she made it back to her dorm, she plopped on her bed, heaving a great sigh. It had been absolutely wonderful, and she dearly wished she could repeat the day.

*

Finally, it was time for them to leave Hogwarts. Clara was sad to leave, and drug her feet around as she tidied up her things in the effort to stay longer. Kiera found such behavior darling but quickly moved to help gather the rest of the First-Year girl’s things and settling them nicely in their respective trunks.

As each lock sealed, the trunks vanished. Kiera told them that the House Elves took them to the train, so the students didn’t have to drag them all the way. Clara fiddled with her backpack straps, waiting as her dorm mates gathered the rest of their things. Once they did, the First-Years walked to the boarding dock.

“You will write to us, right, Clara?” Ursa asked as they left the Dungeons.

“If I can,” Clara answered.

“What do you mean?” Camilla chimed. “Harry has an owl, doesn’t he?”

“He does, but Uncle Vernon doesn’t like Hedwig.”

“Why not?”

“Because he claims she’s a dirty bird. And she’s odd,” Clara hissed. “Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia don’t like odd things. They like their lives to be perfectly normal.”

Camilla scrunched up her nose. “They don’t sound like nice folk at all. They sound rather boring.”

“Oh, they are.”

“Then how about this,” Ursa started, “We’ll send you our owls at night. That way your aunt and uncle won’t know about it. They’ll be fast asleep.”

“I don’t know,”

“Oh, it won’t be that bad. My owl, Beau’s his name, is awfully quiet and very good at being unseen.”

“Well,” Clara started, “I don’t know if I can receive them, see. My uncle drilled bars on my window last summer, you see. What if he tries to do it again?”

Clara noticed that Scarlett’s eyes narrowed at this, though she didn’t say anything.

“Well, if there are bars on your window, then Beau will simply have to return with my letter,” Ursa said. “How’s this, I send you a tester letter, just to see if you do indeed have bars on your window.”

“And if there are, then we find another way to contact you!” Camilla cheered. “Scarlett lives in the Muggle world, so she understands how all of their contact stuff works! We can send stuff to her, and she can send it to you!”

Clara spared a glance at Scarlett. “Would you be willing? You don’t have to if you don’t want to,”

She nodded. “Absolutely. Have to make sure the little troublemaker’s not getting into any serious issues,” Scarlett swung her arm over Clara’s shoulders, before bending her over and rubbing the top of Clara’s head with her knuckles.

Clara stepped out of her grasp, laughing.

As they boarded Hogwarts Express, Clara went off to find the compartment that Harry was in, sliding in when she finally did. Harry offered her the window seat, where she could easily see Hogwarts as they pulled away.

As Hogwarts grew smaller and smaller, Clara couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she had to leave such a magnificent place that finally became such a dear home to her, despite the trials she faced there. However, she knew that she would return soon. She just hoped that the summer wouldn’t drag on for ten years in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ve finally come to an end! It was an amazing experience writing this, and I hope you’ve enjoyed it! Please leave any comments, thoughts, questions, or concerns for this piece! Or rather, if you so desire. Thank you for taking the time to read this, and thank you for sticking to the end! Have a marvelous day!


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